The Variables in the Solution
by an asian to the knee
Summary: We know how the story ends and how it began, but between his flight from Yakone and his brother and his appearance as leader of the greatest non-bender movement in recent history, what became of the man once known as Noatak? This is a REBOOT of the same story of mine from many years ago. With any luck, this one will stick around a bit longer.
1. Prologue

**A/N** : Hello! Welcome to the story. This is just my interpretation / idea of what might've happened between "Noatak" and "Amon". I think Amon is a fascinatingly contradictory character, and I really wanted to explore what might've happened to a 15 year old kid to turn him into someone like Amon, and I thought I'd share it!

For those of you who might've noticed, this is a REBOOT of the same story that I wrote many years ago but discontinued for many reasons. However, I'm back and ready to roll. Currently, the Fanfiction version of the story is behind the one I have on AO3 (/works/4659165/chapters/10629162), as I'm working on uploading each of the chapters and such. However, all of the chapters should be up very soon. I'll do my best to keep each version updated equally for convenience.

I do hope you enjoy! If you have any comments or concerns, please let me know either here or at my Tumblr, thelordwrites. Thanks ~

* * *

The cold is absolute.

Noatak wonders, numbly, if this is how he will die. He supposes, however, that if this is how his story will end, it is not, really, as bad as it could have been. Not as bad as he thought it'd be, by far. Dying in a blizzard might be painless, even. He'll probably be too numb to feel anything, or fall asleep in the snow before he actually dies. It wouldn't be so bad, he figures.

He is not yet completely convinced, however, and clings to life. He bends his back against the unforgiving chill and narrows his eyes against the snow. His parka is lined with fur and had been brushed over with dolphin-whale oil, but still the blizzard pierces unforgivingly past it, stinging his bones and leaving him feeling brittle. His hands are clenched in his mittens and shoved underneath his armpits, and even though he's staring at himself dragging them, Noatak cannot feel his feet. The only evidence he has that they are still attached is the fact that he is still standing.

And through it all, in the ghastly howl of the storm, he still hears Tarrlok's echoing wail: _Don't leave, please!_

Not for the first time that night, Noatak looks back, furtively, over his shoulder. Is he hoping Tarrlok is there, and he and his little brother could travel the world together like they had promised when they were younger? Or is he secretly relieved there is, in fact, no one behind him, and he has left his past behind, it seems, for good?

These are questions too emotionally difficult for his half-frozen brain to muddle through, at the moment. All he knows is his chest gives a pained ache whenever he thinks about Tarrlok's face when he left—or is it because of the cold?

 _He just looked so_ betrayed _. And you called him_ weak _. For what, caring about mom? How could you do that to him? How could you leave him? You call yourself a brother?_ a small voice sneers at him.

 _But I hated it_ , another hisses back. _I_ hated it _there. No one can blame me for leaving. No one can say I was wrong._

Wearily, Noatak quells these voices and hunches his shoulders further, continues to put one foot in front of the other, furrows his brow in deep focus. He should consider waterbending himself an igloo or something, _anything_ to break the constant, unforgiving blast of cold blizzard air freezing the tips of his hair. What he wouldn't give to be a firebender, in this moment.

 _But you aren't_ , the same small, harsh voice snaps at him. _You're a waterbender_. And he hates himself for it.

And despite himself, he cannot bring himself to move his hands from their relative warmth underneath his arms. At least he can still feel his fingers.

But he is _sure_ he cannot feel his toes—a bad sign, he acknowledges dryly. This is the sort of foolish, impulsive planning _Tarrlok_ would do…

Noatak fiercely pushes the thoughts of Tarrlok—and the reflexive image of his large blue eyes, his broken face of disbelief, the vague hopelessness starting to creep into his expression ("He was right about you—you _are_ a weakling")—from his mind, returning all of his energy into walking. _Keep walking_. He could not stop walking. This is a fact that he knew and valiantly held onto. An absolute truth. _Keep walking. Keep walking_.

Father will be furious. He'll spend days trying to find Noatak. He'll take all his anger out on Tarrlok. The thought makes Noatak's blood run, impossibly, even colder than it already is. Slowly, the magnitude of what he has just done seems to dawn on him. He has left his younger brother at the mercy of a former crime lord. He has left his younger brother at the mercy of a man who tried to use his own sons as weapons of revenge. He has left his younger brother to care for an ignorant, stupid, naïve woman who couldn't see the truth ("Don't say that about mom," Tarrlok pouted to Noatak once. "She doesn't know. How could she know?" But she should've. _She should've_ …).

Tarrlok will be stuck in that house forever, probably, without Noatak to look out for him.

Dimly, he is aware that he has stopped walking—he must've, because his cheek is cold and half his face is in snow, and he's pretty sure he's lying down.

 _Get up_. He needs to go _back_. What was he thinking, abandoning Tarrlok like that? He should've tried harder to convince him. No, he should've _forced_ him to come with Noatak—it's not like he couldn't have (even though the act of bloodbending his own brother almost made him throw up right in front of their father), Noatak thinks bitterly. He was just so angry and frustrated—the _one time_ Noatak tries to be some selfless fucking hero, and father punishes him for it hard—but he was hasty.

 _I take it back_ , Noatak thinks vaguely as his vision begins to fade. His body begins to panic, and he feels a few weak, desperate shivers ripple across his body—a physical container's hasty, instinctive attempt to survive, even for just a few moments.

 _I'll go back_ , Noatak promises someone— _anyone_ who will get him out of this, if just to keep his little brother safe. _I won't run again—just keep him_ safe…


	2. 1-1

I: Rebirth

He is aware he is alive and feeling before he actually wakes. He is aware of _consciousness_ , of the sensation of lying down and the fact that it wasn't cold anymore, and that his mind is alive enough to think for itself and know these things.

Unless, of course, he is actually dead, and Noatak is just in the Spirit World.

Slowly, he pulls open his eyes and takes in his environment from just his position underneath a think fur blanket. The home is of Water Tribe design; its walls are rounded, and the roof is domed. The walls are lined with thin but sturdy strips of bark, and Noatak can spot bits of fur poking out between some of them—pelts, undoubtedly, to keep in the warmth. Hanging along the walls are a variety of Water Tribe hunting and battle gear, as well as spoils of war: helmets, spears, knives, a whole pelt of a leopard-bear, a variety of backpacks and knapsacks—but a distinct lack of tapestries and less _feral_ decorum. Things Noatak's mother would often adorn the walls with.

When Noatak tries to move, he becomes aware that he is not wearing his own clothes. These are bigger—much too big—but they kept him warm, which he supposes was the intention. He pushes back the blanket of furs off of him and sits up gingerly. His hair falls over his shoulders. Someone undid it. Experimentally, he wiggles his fingers and toes and is relieved to find that he can not only feel all of them, but can move them as well. _Lucky_.

Now he raises his hands and prepares to bend something—any liquid he can find in here. He heard once that no one can bend in the Spirit World, which he figures wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing—when he hears the squeak of the door open, and he abruptly lays down again, pulls the blankets over him, closes his eyes, and feigns sleep.

His eyes are closed, but it doesn't mean he's blind; he hears the heavy footfalls of someone walk in—a man, he guesses, although he supposes it might just be a heavyset woman (although judging by the décor, he doubts it). They pause for a moment, perhaps to stop and look at Noatak in his bed, before he hears gear being removed: the click of bone knives and wood against each other, the soft sounds of gloves being removed and the clack of a helmet being placed on a hook on the wall.

And Noatak can hear the person's heartbeat, as well—or, rather, feel it. Feel the ripples it sends through the person's blood. The fact that he can makes him ill, but in truth, Noatak could never actually turn it off; it had always been a part of him since he was a child. He had never realized it is different for others until a few years ago. He is not supposed to hear the person's heart echo in his chest, feel the tugs and ebbs of the blood in their veins along Noatak's own skin. It is a strong heart, steady and healthy. An older person, Noatak decides, still in prime physical condition, although perhaps age is catching up to them, judging by the occasional, almost imperceptible splutter the heart gave.

"I know you're awake," an impatient voice rumbles through the home. "Open your eyes and help me with dinner—it's rude to lie to your host like that, especially when they saved your life."

With a start, Noatak blinks open his eyes. He is welcomed by the sight of a tall, broad-shouldered Water Tribe man, his face lined and rugged with a laudably long scar running perpendicular to the bridge of his nose. His dark hair is beginning to gray, but his head is still predominantly black, tied back in a half ponytail. Strung on his neck are a variety of animal teeth and deep blue beads. He shrugs on an anorak before saying flatly, "If you want to fake sleeping, don't have such a serious expression on. I could practically hear you thinking from here."

Noatak isn't sure what to say, but he opens his mouth anyway. "I—"

"Forget about it," the man says impatiently. "Get the fire started."

He doesn't even say please, but as he had said, he had saved Noatak's life. He supposes that means he does not really owe Noatak anything, and if he wants to be rude there's not much Noatak can say about it. Warily, Noatak rises from his bed and makes his way towards the fire pit in the middle of the home.

"Wood's outside," the man tells him as he rummages through a cupboard and pulls out a cutting board and a knife. Wordlessly, Noatak slips out the door.

The tundra is flat and quiet. Beautiful, really, in that muted sort of way. Expansive and infinite, covered in powdered snow and ice and extending towards the horizon. The sun is beginning to set, so its rays do not painfully reflect off the snow's surface, as it is prone to do during midday. Reflexively, he rakes back his hair and pulls it back into a ponytail, pleasantly surprised to find his hair tie is around his wrist.

It's peaceful, and for a moment Noatak just stares and thinks about nothing, reveling in the silence.

After a moment, he turns to the right side of the house, and he sees a pile of neatly chopped wood just as the man had said there would be, kept down by a net weighed down by stones. Of course. Did Noatak think he would lie?

He walks over to the wood pile before pausing and glancing towards the house's entrance. He hadn't noticed before, but this house sits by itself, without a village around. Did this man live by himself? It is such a foreign concept that Noatak hesitates for a moment. In the Water Tribes, it is typical to live in at least a moderately sized village—not even for the sake of having others to talk to, but for the sake of basic survivability. The tundra is unforgiving, and bouts of frostbite, hypothermia, and even common colds means individual survival chances are slim. It is more convenient and, frankly, intelligent to live in groups.

Noatak is suddenly seized by the temptation to run. This man is alone, in the ice and snow. There is nothing he can offer Noatak, and honestly, he suddenly feels much more in danger knowing he is completely isolated with a stranger. Admittedly, he could likely bloodbend the man into submission if he has to, but he would greatly prefer to just leave now, make sure this man never hears about him again…

He throws off the netting from the wood and begins picking up a few pieces. The man is offering a meal and, presumably, a place to stay for at least one night. And even though it is summer, blizzards are still common—as seen from last night, and that was a tamer one, Noatak knew. It would be foolish, he decides, to leave now. Best to see what the man has to offer, bide his time.

If the man notices the disproportionately long time Noatak took to gather a few pieces of firewood when he returns inside, he doesn't say anything. Instead he waves Noatak over as he completes chopping up a slab of meat and some vegetables. Noatak idly wonders how the man attained these vegetables all by his lonesome.

Noatak silently sets up a fire—a task that had been often assigned to him at home and during the "hunting trips" with his father. He grasps the flint that had been waiting patiently on the floor near the man's knee and sets the neat crisscross pile of wood alight.

"Nicely done," the man says with a vaguely impressed tone as Noatak encouragingly blows the flames. Despite himself, he feels a small swelling of pride in his chest. No one had ever complimented him for his fire making skills before, and the fact that such flat praise affects him this way is beyond stupid, but nevertheless, Noatak straightens in a slightly better mood.

As the meat cooks on a spit, the man says, "Alright, guess it's a good time for introductions, eh?"

He looks at Noatak expectantly, and with a small jump he says, "I'm"— _Don't say your actual name, idiot!_ —"Tarrlok."

If the man notes Noatak's brief hesitance, he doesn't give any indication as such. Noatak finds he appreciates this man's respect for privacy.

"I'm Naruq," he says.

"Nice to meet you, Naruq," Noatak says politely. He bows a little from his kneeling position on the floor, even though the act of exposing his bare neck to anyone makes his nervous. "Thank you for saving my life."

Naruq waves off the gratitude with scathing criticism. "Wouldn't have had to if you weren't stupid enough to wander around in the middle of a blizzard. You're lucky it's the middle of summer, not winter. You sure you're a Water Tribe kid? What did your parents even teach you, eh? Apparently nothing useful."

Noatak endures the verbal attacks with tight lips. Best not to let anything slip past in a smart remark. And when Noatak does not rise to the bait, Naruq snorts and checks the meat.

"What were you doing out there, kid?" Naruq asks with a somewhat more serious tone, and Noatak frowns minutely.

"I'm—uh, I—I was…" Noatak stammers for words as he watched Naruq turn the meat on the spit, at a loss. How much should he say?

"Forget it," Naruq solves the problem for him. "Your business is your business. You look old enough to respect that." Naruq gives Noatak a critical look. "How old are you, anyway?"

This, Noatak figures would not be too bad if he answers straight. "Fifteen."

Naruq snorts again. "Close enough." He goes back to inspecting the meat, and the conversation runs cold until the meal is prepared. Naruq slides the flank of whatever animal he killed off the spit and slices off handsome pieces for the both of them. He had stuffed the vegetables inside of the meat, and they spill out as he cuts it open. Noatak eagerly digs in before asking three bites in, "Naruq, sir—sorry, I hope you don't mind me asking—it's your business, so if you don't want to answer—"

"For Spirits' sake, kid, spit it out."

"Why are you out here by yourself? Don't you have a village or…?" he trails off.

To his surprise, Naruq answers quickly and easily. "Had a bit of a falling out with the chief of the village I was in. Story behind this." With a ferociously amused grin, he jabs a thumb at the scar across his nose. "We couldn't compromise, so I moved out."

"He banished you?"

"Nah," Naruq says into his plate. "Pride got in the way. Pride's still in the way. The chief was my best friend, before this happened. I could probably go back anytime I want to, and he'd probably welcome me back with open arms—but that'd be like admitting I was wrong, eh?"

"I—I guess," Noatak agrees, nonplussed. "What was the argument about?"

Naruq snorts. "What other idiot reason in Spirits' name would two young men ruin their friendship over? A girl, kid."

"Oh."

"Yeah, _oh_. I take it you haven't had your heart stolen, kid?"

"I—No, I wouldn't say—"

"Well, just you wait," Naruq amusedly stabs the air in front of Noatak with his fork. "You'll get there. Then you'll see. Men go crazy over girls."

With a bemused frown, Noatak returns to his meal.

When they both finish, Naruq picks up the dishes and places them in a sink before returning to the fire.

"So," he says, businesslike, "how long you staying for, kid?"

Noatak saw this question coming but still did not have an adequately succinct answer. "I—I'm not sure. I'd…I'd like to stay for as long as you'll have me."

Naruq raises a heavy eyebrow. "Kid, as long as you pull your weight, I don't mind having an extra body around. But I doubt you want to stay here for the rest of your life, eh?"

Noatak had not been expecting this. He hesitates before saying, "Yes, you're right. I—I mean, I don't know; I didn't really have a real…plan," he finishes lamely.

"Didn't need you to tell me that, kid," Naruq says bluntly. "Finding you without supplies out in the middle of nowhere in a blizzard told me that already."

Noatak feels himself flush a bit.

"But, if you don't want to stay, guess that means you're looking to travel somewhere. Sound about right?"

Noatak nods once. The more distance he can put between himself and his father, the better.

Naruq scratches his chin. "Then, in that case, I can take you to this trading village a couple days travel from here. It's where I get a lot of my supplies, so I was going to go there soon, anyway. It's a port town, so likely they'll take you somewhere interesting." He pauses before asking, "You a waterbender?"

Noatak is so surprised by the sudden question he doesn't even consider lying. "Yes."

Naruq nods. "They like waterbenders. Make it easier to sail through rough waters. You'll probably be let on a ship."

"I'm—I'm not that good," Noatak says, because while he is a prodigal bloodbender, his waterbending education is comparatively deplorable. He's not completely sure he could split apart a storm wave if he has to.

"Don't have to be," Naruq snorts. "Just say you're a waterbender and make some water do some pretty stuff in front of them, and you'll be given passage. And once you're sailing—I mean, they won't throw you off."

"Are you sure?"

"They're good folk," Naruq shrugs. "They're not going to throw a kid overboard."

Noatak supposes that's fair. "That sounds good, then. I'd appreciate if you took me there."

"Consider it done, kid," Naruq says. He rises and stifles Noatak's offer to do the dishes.

"Look, kid," Naruq says seriously, "I don't know what kind of past you're dealing with, and I don't need to know, but I figure if a fifteen year old boy is wandering out alone in a snowstorm, you've been dealing with some tough stuff." He turns and says over his shoulder, "Relax a bit, eh? You almost died out there."

Noatak isn't sure how to react to this, so he just mutters "Thank you" and returns to his bed, where he crawls under the sheets and stares at the ceiling.

He doesn't fall asleep immediately, but turns on his side and watches Naruq finish washing the plates before returning to the fire, where he sets upon cleaning off his hunting gear. The fire gleams off the surfaces of the bone knives and spearheads, and Naruq takes time wiping off and sharpening each one. It reminds Noatak of what his father would do, and how, when they were younger, he and Tarrlok would beg their father to let them touch and play with his fancy weapons. Their mother, if Noatak remembered correctly, thought it was adorable.

 _The good days_ , Noatak thinks to himself bitterly. Naruq casts a glance at him, perhaps sensing the shift in mood in the house, but Noatak turns onto his back again and glares at the ceiling. The sooner he sheds his past, the better, he figures. And for the most part, he is eager to abandon the memories of his home behind: his father, his mother, bloodbending, all of it. But what sticks with him is the haunted face of his brother, fading fast as Noatak left him in a storm.

How many times would he need to leave his brother behind?

Naruq eventually finishes his maintenance and replaces his weapons and gear in their appropriate places on the walls and in his storage. He leaves the fire going, throwing in a couple more pieces of wood to keep it alive for a few more hours, before getting into bed himself in a pile of blankets on the other side of the home. After a few minutes, Naruq falls asleep—judging by the steady rise and fall of his shoulders and the relaxed rhythm of his heartbeat, at least—leaving Noatak alone with his thoughts.

For the first time in a while, Noatak realizes he feels more relaxed in this bed than he had in his own home. While the observation itself is depressing, Noatak only wishes doubly hard that he had tried to convince Tarrlok to come with him. They could both be here, together, enjoying Naruq's blunt manner and heading towards wherever the trading ships would take them in a few days' time. They would feel safe—or, safer, at least—far from their father's grasp and isolated from other villages and populations. It is lucky, Noatak decides, that he ended up here; his father would look, perhaps, in very close villages to their campsite, but Noatak doubts he will be able to find one lone house surrounded by tundra.

 _First day free_ , Noatak thinks to himself tiredly, even though he does not feel free—not completely, at least. But more than he has felt in a while.

He slips into a fitful sleep a little while after that, fighting to keep the images of Tarrlok crying out his name and Tarrlok bending unnaturally at Noatak's will from entering his dreams—and, predictably, failing.


	3. 1-2

Naruq tells Noatak the next morning that he will not be heading towards the neighboring port town for at least the next two days, which leaves the young man to his own devices for the most part until they leave—save for the odd job Naruq tells Noatak to do. This, however, Noatak does not mind; it is the least he can do, really, for Naruq saving his life, and he's fairly certain if he was just left to sit around, he'd go insane anyway. More than once, he seriously considers running right there and now, take everything back, and try and return to his hometown. At least that way, he will be able to drag Tarrlok out of their house and never look back. He will be _insistent_ this time around, bloodbend his brother if he has to—

Even though that experience almost made Noatak throw up. If his father had not stopped him when he did, Noatak thought he really would've all over his father's boots. He had not broken eye contact with Tarrlok the entire time, and seeing the true _fear_ in his eyes—fear for his brother, for _Noatak_ —almost made him cry out an apology. He'd never felt _truly_ guilty or despicable for being a bloodbender until that moment.

But this time would be for a good cause, Noatak convinces himself over and over. And it is not as if he bloodbent his brother before because he _wanted_ to anyway; he was trying to protect Tarrlok. That is what Noatak has _always_ tried to do.

 _Except you failed stupendously. Good job_.

He ignores these small, guilty voices and thinks instead that Naruq would help him get back to the village, if Noatak were to ask. He would go by himself—he'd prefer it that way—but without the right gear Noatak would not be able to navigate his way back home (he hardly knows where he collapsed in that blizzard, or which way he was going in the first place). And even though Noatak tells himself it is not, in the long run, a big deal compared to the safety of Tarrlok, he does not feel right about stealing the supplies from Naruq in the dead of night. Not now. Not after all he'd done.

 _Is this how far you're willing to go?_ he hears that traitorous voice again. _That's all you've got?_

Noatak had to admit it is. Realistically, he knows he will not leave for Tarrlok. He is unwilling to retrace the steps he had so painstakingly taken to separate himself from that place. What if he's sucked right back in when he steps in that home? What if his father threatens the safety of Tarrlok to force Noatak to stay?

This may be his only chance at freedom. As guilty as he feels about it, Noatak cannot find the willingness to give it up for the chance Tarrlok may come with him this time around.

 _Some big brother_.

Noatak pushes these thoughts away and seeks out helpful things to do.

Luckily, as it turns out, living by oneself in the tundra meant there are more chores than Noatak remembered his own household of four having. Each morning, the fire is made and the food cooked before the dishes are washed and the fire is stifled as the pair of them leave the home. The Noatak follows Naruq out into the quiet sea of white, where Naruq leads them on a short hunt for the day's meal. He confided that he usually does not hunt every day; with Noatak's arrival, he wants to be sure there is enough food remaining for the rest of the week.

At first, Noatak is nervous about the hunting trips—for the obvious reasons. It reminded him of his father. He could almost still remember how excited he was for the _first_ hunting trip. The first of many. It had been soon after Tarrlok had shown signs of waterbending—about four months after Noatak had. If Noatak is being honest, he has to admit he had secretly hoped Tarrlok would not be a waterbender, although he only realized he had been wishing this _after_ Tarrlok triumphantly showed off the small orb of water floating in his hand to Noatak one evening. Tarrlok was already well liked, sociable, and a people-person, doted on by mother and father. Noatak, while friendly enough, was only ever truly open with Tarrlok, and even then…there was always something that seemed to stiffen, something within him that couldn't quite go along with his younger brother. It was why Noatak was so guiltily excited to find he could waterbend but Tarrlok could not; for once, their father seemed to give him a bit more special attention, although at the time Noatak had not realized how sinister this attention would become.

But Noatak loved Tarrlok, regardless, so when he showed Noatak that orb of water, Noatak burst into excited exclamations and shoved down the bitter feelings threatening to heave out of his mouth.

 _Mother_ was excited, of course. She threw a miniature celebration for Tarrlok—and, of course, Noatak, she insisted, although Noatak was and is not prone to believe her. _Not that it matters_ , Noatak reminds himself as he kneels in the snow next to Naruq and focuses his breathing, so he does not alert other animals of their presence. _Stupid woman. Not worth the effort_.

At the time, however, the small realization that mother may _ever so slightly_ favor Tarrlok over Noatak cut deeper than he thought possible. It would be a while until he figured out the cold, morose feeling he had experienced that dinner, even though he was sitting at a dinner table surrounded by delicious food and his family, is called "loneliness".

Noatak did not have much time to feel sorry for himself, however; at the end of that dinner, father had asked if they would like to go hunting.

"A rite of passage," he insisted in a booming, excited voice, a smile on his face. "My two boys—waterbenders!" There had been a spark of something in his eyes then, like a part of him rekindled after he realized his sons were benders both. Noatak wonders, now, if it was then his father's mind began working on his plan of revenge; how long it would take to tutor his sons in the way of bloodbending? Perhaps it was then they had truly lost their father.

With a firm but controlled nudge, Naruq calls Noatak back to reality. "Look sharp, Tarrlok"—Noatak wishes he had given a better alias; hearing his brother's name regularly just sends a swooping ache through his gut—"we've got a couple of lives ones, eh?"

Naruq doesn't need to tell _Noatak_ that; he could feel the fluttering hearts of the jackalopes before they bounded into sight, their brown summer fur in sharp contrast to the snow. Their hearts are small and quick and panicked, even without sensing danger. It's because they're so small, Noatak supposes. They had been one of the easiest live subjects to take control of—kind of like overgrown tundra rats. With horns.

As he watches, he sees one pair of delicate antlers rise minutely and pause. The jackalope's ears twitch slightly in the silence. Did it sense predators nearby? Or perhaps the uncomfortable, sick feeling of someone or some _thing_ beginning to pull at its insides, commanding it to stay still for just a little while longer, allow it to be gracefully speared by—

Naruq did not waste a second. Swiftly, he rises from his position on the ground and shoots an arrow, fast and true, right into the jackalope's eye. _Good aim_ , Noatak thinks appreciatively before giving a glance at the next jackalope and subtly influencing it to remain rooted to the spot for just a bit more. He feels the strain it puts against its own bones, the rising panic of its pulse as it realizes it no longer has control of its own body, and he feels the familiar, if somewhat muted, sensations of true illness and rush of power.

As expected, Naruq gets that jackalope too, and he proceeds to collect them in his bag them and leaves Noatak to wait in the snow. He sits up now and sighs minutely, staring at the jackalope bodies.

 _You didn't need to do that_ , Noatak chastises himself. _Naruq would've gotten them without your help_. Naruq is a skilled huntsman—the weaponry and hides decorating the walls of his home are evidence enough—and Noatak is sure he would not be happy knowing he was helped by a psychic bloodbender.

 _You didn't need to do that_ , Noatak reminds himself again, and wills himself to keep this in mind for next time. He cannot afford to slip up. Bloodbending is behind him now, he tells himself.

Even though it seems to be the one thing he is good at. He is bitter about this—unjustifiably so. The one thing he's good at—and it's an illegal, dark bending art. _Parasite_.

"This should be enough for the next couple of nights, eh?" Naruq appears beside Noatak again. The presence is so sudden he actually jumps. He had not even noticed Naruq's approaching heartbeat.

"You okay, kid?"

"Yes," Noatak replies—perhaps a shade too quickly. "I'm fine. Thank you. Yes, those look good."

Naruq gives Noatak a quizzical look, but, as is customary for him, he doesn't pry. Instead he gives an agreeable nod at the compliment towards the meat and begins to lead them back home.

"Stop dragging your feet, kid," Naruq calls over his shoulder as Noatak hurries to catch up. "Got to store some of the salted meat and gather firewood before the light's gone."

Naruq already has so much firewood Noatak wonders why he thinks he needs more, but doesn't question it. Instead he moves his feet slightly faster, trailing after the large boot tracks the older man makes in the snow. Naruq continues a conversation about something trivial—how the meat should be prepared that evening—but it keeps Noatak preoccupied and his thoughts away from Tarrlok. Later (much later), he wonders if Naruq meant it that way.

When they drop off the meat in the house, Naruq takes out dried, salted slabs of meat from the drying rack and meets Noatak outside, where he places them in a bag he has brought out with him. Then he goes back in and comes back with an axe and a small sled—for the firewood, Noatak assumes.

"So," Naruq says briskly, "a waterbender, eh?"

Noatak feels a small jolt of panic. Had Naruq noticed something strange with the jackalopes?

"Get that stupid look off your face, kid. You said you're a waterbender, didn't you?"

"I—Yes, I did, but I don't—? Like I said, I'm not that good—"

"Calm down, kid," Naruq says with a raised eyebrow. "I just was going to ask you to start bending some snow away. If you can handle it, that is."

 _Stupid._ "Yes, of course."

"Good," Naruq says briskly. He guides them a ways away from the home, where a few marked sticks are poking up from the snowy ground.

"Do me a favor and bend off the snow around the ones marked black, eh?"

Obediently, Noatak bends his legs and lifts his arms up in a smooth breath. Snow mounds dutifully shift up into the air and away from the markers, where Noatak coaxes them into a pile before repeating the process to the other three markers. Beneath the snow are barrels, where Noatak can only assume are pieces of frozen, preserved meat.

Naruq bends down and begins to lift one out with a slight grunt—it is heavy, undoubtedly, and likely frozen into the packed snow. Deftly, Noatak raises his hands and arms and uses the ice around and in the barrel to lift out the one Naruq is over. Upon seeing the barrel twitch, Naruq sits back and allows Noatak to do his thing.

Noatak always thought it was strange that he has too use his hands when, with bloodbending, he only had to _think_ about making someone move and they would do it. Wasn't it just an extension of regular waterbending? To be fair, however, Noatak had never tried psychic waterbending. It is a possibility that had never been properly explored by him—courtesy of his father, of course. _Everything_ could be traced back to his father.

 _But is that really right?_ that small voice in him says again. _Was it really your father, or was it_ —?

"Tarrlok."

Noatak looks up from his thoughts to find that he has not lowered the barrel to the ground. The barrel plummets down as Noatak gives an embarrassed flush.

"Watch it," Naruq says, although he doesn't sound upset. Instead he rolls the barrel upright and uses a hammer to pound the edges and loosen the lid. He looks inside before saying, "These look good. Let's put these in here"—he indicates to his large bag, where the raw meat is wrapped inside—"and put the new ones in." Here he takes out the meat from the bag and waves it a little. With a short nod, Noatak reaches inside the barrel with his gloved hands and attempts to bring the meat out—with little success. It is all frozen together, and hard and slippery.

"Normally I'd have to leave it out all day tomorrow to let it thaw enough," Naruq says, "but when you've got a waterbender…"

Noatak didn't need any more encouragement. He fell back into his readying stance.

"Just, you know, actually put it down this time."

It is meant to be a harmless joke, but Noatak's face heats and he murmurs and apology anyway. Naruq looks him over before shrugging and saying, "Not a big deal, kid. Learn to loosen up."

Noatak mutters his assent before concentrating on the ice particles keeping the meat together. Unwilling to mimic his mishap earlier, he this time opts to simply melt the ice around the meat. When Naruq sees the water beginning to drain from the barrel, he glances inside quickly and sticks his hand in.

"That's enough," he says to Noatak, who starts and stops bending. "Don't want to dry out the meat too much."

Noatak nods and begins helping Naruq taking out the new meat from the bag and putting them in the snow before placing the old meat from the barrel into the bag. Then they begin alternating layers of meat and packs of fresh snow in the barrel, before Naruq and Noatak both lift the barrel and lower it into the previous hole. While Naruq replaces the black marker with a white one, Noatak replaces the snow over this hole and all others in the area.

"Nice work, kid," Naruq says before shoving the meat bag in Noatak's face. Surprised, Noatak takes it.

"Going to get some firewood now," Naruq says.

"Where?" Noatak cannot resist asking with an incredulous tone. He glances around for effect, and he does not see a forest in sight.

"Forest is a way's away," Naruq says, "but it's got to be done. The trip is a couple of hours, but don't worry; thanks to your help I've got plenty of light left."

Noatak glances up at the sky and sees the sun is still high and well above their heads.

"Still," Noatak frowns, "let me come with you. I can drop this off and meet you back here."

"Don't worry about it; take a break, kid."

"I don't need one," Noatak insists. "Really, I want to help!"

"Kid," Naruq almost looks as if he is about to roll his eyes. "Take a break."

Noatak blinks before relaxing a little. Naruq must've noticed how unfocused Noatak had been. Well, it is not as if Noatak made it particularly difficult to see.

"I understand," Noatak sighs a little. "Alright, I'll see you later, then."

Naruq nods in satisfaction before turning his back and heading westward. "You know the way back, eh?" he calls behind his shoulder, and Noatak says after him, "Yes, don't worry!"

Naruq throws one hand up to indicate that he has heard, and with that Noatak turns around himself and walks back to the house, where he hangs up the meat on the rack and places the bag alongside the others on the wall. He figures if it is not in its proper place, Naruq will move it appropriately.

After Noatak makes a fire, he is left with nothing to do but deal with his own thoughts. He hugs his knees and stares at the flames, a deep frown creasing his forehead. To his surprise, he finds himself worrying about Naruq out in the tundra by himself. Noatak reminds himself that Naruq has done this countless times without anyone's help, much less the help of a fifteen year old boy, and Naruq could handle himself. Yet, after a day, Naruq has earned a place within Noatak's concern.

 _That's natural_ , he tells himself. _He saved your life_.

But Noatak's mother birthed and raised him, and he didn't give a damn about her. He knows how cold this is, but it is a fact he had long since accepted. One day, he woke up and heard his mother say good morning to him, and found that he did not have a shred of love for the woman that had been sitting in front of him. There was just … nothing. Even now, all he feels towards her is apathy, at best. At worst, he feels a deep, seething loathing. Nothing compared to what he felt towards his father, of course, but still, there is a part of Noatak that felt like acid whenever he thought of his mother.

When had he lost his love for his own _mother_? Family is important in the Water Tribes; extended relatives often live in the same homes as immediate ones. The Water Tribes are all about community, support, and having family and friends that will be there during times of greatest change. Noatak knew all this, yet whenever he thought of his own parents, he felt numb.

It was when his father had started taking Noatak and Tarrlok out on hunting trips, Noatak finally decides. After a couple of them, Noatak had been so frustrated his mother had not noticed—hadn't seen something was wrong—why Tarrlok was having more nightmares and crying to himself in the middle of the night.

 _She should've known_ , Noatak thinks to himself harshly, his grip on his arms tightening and his brow creasing. But Tarrlok had always been so quick to defend her…

But, as usual, the root of the problem is his father. Noatak moodily collapses onto his side and glares at the fire. If his father had not been a bloodbender, if his father had not taken them out on hunting trips, if they had just not been waterbenders—

—If his father had not lost his bending.

 _Aang_. What is it like, Noatak wonders, to have the power to take away bending? It is like the Avatar is like a Spirit, or some sort of deity. If he wants to, Avatar Aang could just go around and take away everyone's bending whenever he felt like—who would stop him? He could even overpower the psychic bloodbending of _Yakone_.

Naruq returns sometime later, and after he prepares dinner, Noatak asks him, "Naruq, what do you think of bending?"

Naruq, evidently surprised Noatak is initiating a conversation, looks up from his meal. "What about it?"

"I mean," Noatak frowns as he tries to formulate his question. "Just…what's your opinion on it?"

"Don't have much of an opinion," Naruq shrugs noncommittally before taking a bite and chewing meditatively. "I mean, it's helpful, sure—like you and your waterbending today."

"But you're not a bender, right?" Noatak presses. "Do you ever feel…I don't know… _jealous_? Or—or _weak_ , or…?" Noatak trails off and makes a face. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to call you weak. I was just…I don't know. Forget it."

"Look, kid," Naruq puts down his empty bowl and looks at Noatak straight in the eye. "Sure, you're a waterbender, and if you wanted to do some sort of fancy water trick that puts a bubble around my head and drowns me, you sure could. I couldn't do anything about it, at least," he shrugs again, ignoring Noatak's uncomfortable expression.

"Thing is, if I wanted to jump you and strangle you right now with my own two hands, I'm pretty certain I'd strangle you before you could do a fancy water move to get me off," Naruq says bluntly again. "Bottom line is, yeah, you benders, you've got some advantages. Some more than others, sometimes. But it's what you do with it that counts. For every rotten bender that abuses his power, there's ten more good ones just wanting to make a living." Naruq pauses to drink from his cup of tea.

"And is it a little unfair? Maybe. I don't know. I lived in a village for most of my life, and by myself out here for the rest. I hear in the cities, some benders get better jobs because they can do the work better than nonbenders can—but all I _know_ is that, when my dad was hurting from a cut in his side, the waterbender healer patched him up faster than any nonbender could've. And when, one summer, it was hotter than we expected, and everything started flooding, and the waterbenders in the village froze everything and stopped it. And when I needed help today, you did it, and you got rid of at least a day's worth of work just by thawing out the meat by yourself." Naruq clears his throat, perhaps surprised he has said so much, before continuing, "You get the hand you're dealt. Life's not fair sometimes—that's just how it is. I'm not saying it's perfect, and yeah, sometimes I wish I was a bender to make some work go faster, but I've got my skills, and you've got yours. That's why people come together, and live together."

When Noatak does not seem entirely convinced, Naruq gives a snort and says into his tea cup, "Look, kid, whenever I feel _weak_ around you, I'll let you know."

At this, Noatak is tempted to give a short, dry laugh of his own. If only Naruq knew just how _helpless_ Noatak could make him feel, right now…

Noatak washes the dishes today, and when he crawls into his bedding, it is Naruq that puts out the fire. Noatak lies silently in the dark for a while, meditating on Naruq's words. All in all, he knew Naruq meant it to be encouraging, but he could not help but focus on one part of it: _Life's not fair sometimes. That's just how it is_.

 _Why is that?_ Noatak thinks to himself frustratedly. _Why is life unfair?_ He rolls around underneath his blanket with a scowl on his face.

 _Second day free_ , Noatak says to himself, finally shoving away his other, more complicated thoughts in favor of sleep—and entertains himself with dreams of Tarrlok and Noatak in a _normal_ life, with a loving family.

 _Where life is_ fair _,_ Noatak thinks firmly before drifting off.


	4. 1-3

Naruq shakes Noatak awake on the third day. His voice is still gravelly from sleep ( _or_ , Noatak thinks to himself dryly, _more gravelly than usual_ ), and he gruffly tells Noatak to get ready to head out. With a vague groan, Noatak sits up from his bed and rakes a hand through his hair.

"Well, don't just sit there, kid," Naruq says from across the home. "You want to get out of here or don't you?"

Blearily, Noatak stands at last and pulls his hair back in a haphazard ponytail before going to brush his teeth and wash off his face outside. It's strange, he reflects, that Naruq lives so simply yet has the luxuries of quality toothpaste. He supposes it's because of the nearby trading village.

The sky is still pitch dark, perhaps slightly purpling. That doesn't bother Noatak; in the winters, it would be dark until close to noon, then go dark again near four or five in the afternoon. Tarrlok was always bothered by the dark, but for Noatak, it was always easy to tolerate—but perhaps it is because he has never felt blind in it. His natural affinity for bloodbending had always left him hyper sensitive to even the faintest hearbeats nearby, even when he is not trying. Even now, he feels the faint hums of life around him.

 _Water is life_ , Noatak thinks to himself as he rinses out his mouth and waterbending cold water on his face, waking himself up. _And blood is proof of it._

Noatak returns back inside to find Naruq has effectively packed everything up for their journey, already. There is a sled with a multitude of supplies on it—primarily the meat Naruq had Noatak dig up the day before, along with some knives and spears, and a couple of carved wood charms.

"Why do you need these?" Noatak asks as he bends down and flips one over in his hand. It looks like a penguin. He runs a thumb over its spread flippers. _Tarrlok would like this_. If it had been any other time, Noatak would buy this for him.

He replaces the charm back in his place as Naruq says, "It's a trading village, kid. Got to exchange something for something there, since I don't got any money."

"Makes sense," Noatak says more to himself than Naruq, who snorts and finishes tying everything down to the sled. Meanwhile, Noatak finishes changing and pulling on his boots. Naruq had lined them with more fur last night, and Noatak can already feel the difference. _I should thank him, again_.

"Ready, kid?"

"Yes," Noatak says as he puts on his mittens and pulls up his hood around his face.

"Take this rein."

Obediently, Noatak takes the smaller rein next to Naruq's larger one, and they both pull the sled through the snow, heading south.

"What is the village like?" Noatak asks as they walk. "Is it large? Is it far?"

Naruq, as usual, patiently (if not curtly) answers Noatak's questions. "It's not that large. Nothing compared to the main city. Maybe larger than what you're used to. They get good business. It ain't that far. We'll probably get there by early afternoon."

Noatak looks up at the sky again. It is summer, he reminds himself, and the sky is just beginning to lighten, which means it is likely early morning.

"It doesn't make you nervous, walking alone in the middle of the tundra for the entire time?"

"What's there to be nervous about?" Naruq asks.

"I don't know," Noatak sniffs a little. "Maybe some wolves or something. You have all that meat in your sled."

"As long as I don't do anything _stupid_ "—Naruq says this with biting derision—"I'm usually fine, kid. I've got gear and I've got my experience, but I don't pick fights. You should learn from that."

With a small pout, Noatak falls silent. For a while, the walk is quiet. There is something meditative about the experience, however, and Noatak finds he does not mind. Before he realizes it, he is already falling back into old habits. He studies his own heartbeat and finds comfort in the familiar rhythm, and listens to the strong, slower, steadier beats of Naruq beside him—the heartbeat he had first heard when he had arrived. It is firm and resolute—dependable, Noatak decides. It sounds like his father's heart, which troubles him more than it should. Despite himself, he remembers the days before his father realized Noatak was a waterbender—the days where Noatak would lie across his father's chest and listen to the comforting thumping of his heart, actually feel the beats reverberate through him. He fell asleep more than once on his father like that. He doesn't even remember how old he had been, anymore. It must've been when he was younger than ten, because when he was ten, his father took him and Tarrlok out to teach them bloodbending.

This means Tarrlok likely has fewer happy memories with their father than Noatak does—if he has any at all. Noatak wonders if that is worse or better. On one hand, in Tarrlok's mind, his father has and always will be the villain. But on the other, Tarrlok will never have to pine over what could have been.

Noatak does not like this train of thought, and refocuses on Naruq's heartbeat, which has continued its resolute beat through their silent walk. He is not sure how it is for other people, but for Noatak, the sound of the human heart had always been comforting to him. It is a steadfast, patient sort of rhythm that resounds through the body's blood. It is an absolute sign of life.

Of course, it is a different story when he starts to bloodbend. Then the heart starts spluttering, like a person being choked, and Noatak can not only hear, but _feel_ through his fingers the mad, skittering lurches it gives, trying to escape his grip.

Once again, the haunting memory of bloodbending Tarrlok creeps into Noatak's mind. He shudders and tries to untangle himself from the memory.

 _It's weird_ , he thinks to himself idly. _I've always been able to feel hearts and blood, but Tarrlok never seemed to_. Perhaps he had been of the same mentality as Noatak, and assumed it was just _normal_ , but (likely from some deeply selfish part of himself) Noatak also considers the possibility that, perhaps, Tarrlok simply never felt it like Noatak had. He had only showed signs of waterbending after Noatak had, after all.

Although, to be fair, Noatak didn't even realize he could waterbend until he was ten, even though he had clearly shown signs of the talent since as far back as he could remember. Perhaps Tarrlok is the same.

But, privately, Noatak harbors the small, guilty hope that he is special.

"Let's take a break, kid," Naruq says after some time. Noatak murmurs his assent and releases his grip on the reins, and realizes his hands have stiffened. It is to be expected, he figures. He had been pulling along, lost in thought, for perhaps a few hours. He experimentally opens and closes his fingers, begins to feel the blood begin to pump through, again.

Then, with a sudden, curious thought, Noatak begins to bloodbend his own blood, coaxing it to flow a bit quicker through his fingers. Within seconds, he regained full mobility of them, and they no longer ached. Even more so, they were pleasantly warm through his mittens.

 _A practical use_ , Noatak thinks to himself with satisfaction. It is nice to know there are _some_.

There is nothing much to set fire to, so Noatak and Naruq eat dried seal jerky, leaning against the sled. Neither of them are particularly tired, per se (although Noatak is somewhat out of breath; while he, Tarrlok, and his father had trekked quite long distances to hunt, usually the load had been divided by three), but they don't speak. Noatak thinks it is a combination of saving energy as well as appreciating silence. Around his father, there had always been some sort of… _activity_.

"Finished, kid?" Naruq breaks the silence at last. Noatak finds he welcomes the familiar grate of his voice.

"Yes," Noatak says as he stands. "Are we far?"

"Nah," Naruq waves a hand. "Maybe another hour walk."

Noatak cannot help but feel excited. He'd never been to other villages besides his own before, and had certainly never been to a trading village. He'd never even see a boat, before.

As Naruq had said, it takes only about an hour before they see the village. Noatak feels a spike of anticipation. Besides the obvious fact that he will be seeing a new place, he also realizes he will be taking a ship somewhere—hopefully far from his father. Seeing the village seems to have solidified in his mind that he is, in fact, running and starting a new life, and not, in fact, having a spat of insubordination only to go crawling back to his father and asking for forgiveness.

Although he would never ask for his father's forgiveness. It is not _his_ forgiveness Noatak wants.

The entrance of the village is secured by a large wall of ice, with a wooden gate covering its entrance. When they step in front of it, Naruq calls up to the top of the wall.

"It's me!" he shouts. "Here to drop off some game."

Presently, a head pokes out from above the wall, and Noatak is surprised to see a boy no older than himself look down and wave.

"Hi, Naruq!" he shouts down, his voice sounding thin in the air. "I'll let you in—but who's that beside you?"

"Kid's name is Tarrlok," says Naruq. "He's with me."

That seems to be enough for the boy. He gives a thumbs up before disappearing. Moments later, with a creak and a moan, the gates swing forward. Naruq waves Noatak forward, and he takes the first step into the village.

As Naruq said, it is not a large village, but to Noatak, it is the most activity he'd ever seen. Already, stepping inside, the path is lined with vendors selling a variety of goods, from authentic Water Tribe charms to Fire Nation treats. Noatak feels his eyes widen, and he cannot keep the slight smile from creeping onto his face.

"This is the happiest I've seen you, kid," Naruq snorts—although perhaps he sounds somewhat amused, as well. Noatak turns around and smiles somewhat sheepishly as Naruq waves up to the boy on the wall. With a salute, the boy disappears again, and the gate closes soon after.

"That guy opens and closes the gate all day?"

"Who, Kesuk?" Naruq glances back up at the top of the gate. "He's probably up there with his older brother, but yeah, that's his job around here. His family's been gatekeepers here, apparently."

 _Sounds boring_ , Noatak thinks to himself, but he doesn't say anything more. Instead he walks further down the path and allows himself to inspect some of the baubles he sees. There are clay pots and works from the Earth Kingdoms, tomes covering everything from cooking to master bending techniques (although, of course, nothing, Noatak notes almost reflexively as he flips through the waterbending book, on bloodbending), and piles of fried foods and cases of live fish.

"Having fun, kid?" Naruq asks from behind him, and Noatak tries to get his smile under control before saying, "Yes, it's pretty fun, here."

"Relax, kid," Naruq snorts at Noatak's sad attempt at a serious expression. "I was kidding. Lighten up."

Noatak did not have to be told twice. His mouth breaks out in a wide smile again, and he trails after Naruq as he takes a path away from the other vendors.

"Where are we going?" Noatak asks, and Naruq answers him, "Got to find a place to trade this meat and these charms—and find a reliable crew for you to travel with. I've got a friend in one of the inns nearby. She'll point you in the right direction."

There is significantly less bustle here—Noatak presumes they are away from the main shopping area—but there is still a number of people weaving through the roads, bags slung across their shoulders and backs. Noatak can tell this is a village used to constant trade. The walls are all made of expensive stone, packed together with mud and years of ice, and the roads look to be salted. Or, at least, Noatak had not slipped on ice, yet.

Soon, they arrive at the docks, where sailors are loading wares on and off their ships. The sea is just beyond them, and even though Noatak does not consider himself a master waterbender by any means, he feels the familiar tug he usually gets when he prepares to bloodbend—except on a far larger scale. On the few occasions his father taught him and Tarrlok waterbending, it had only been on small quantities of thawed ice, and even though he insisted they focus on feeling the push and pull of the water, Noatak found it had been easier through the human body. It is perhaps one of the reasons Noatak, impossibly, feels more of a "bloodbender" than a "waterbender".

But, standing so close to the ocean, with its waves foaming and rocking the ships on its surface, he could not deny his waterbending roots. It is as if he is being pulled through the tide with it. He can feel the tug of the waves pulling at his heart, and his fingers itch with the need to move.

"This way, kid!" Naruq calls from some distance ahead of him, and Noatak jerks out of his reverie and scans the crowd for a moment, searching for his guide. When he locates him, Noatak jogs over, keeping an eye on Naruq's broad back while feeling the almost gravitational coaxing of the water. Noatak wonders if this is what feeling drunk is like.

Noatak catches up to Naruq just outside of a fairly large inn, where men and women alike are filtering in and out. Naruq is speaking with a young man, indicating his sled with his hand.

"Keep an eye on it, eh?" Naruq is saying to the man, perhaps three or four years older than Noatak. While he is taller than Naruq, he is still (appropriately, Noatak should think) intimidated by the older man.

"Yes, sir," he says, taking the reins of the sled. "I'll keep it safe for you."

"You be sure you do," Naruq narrows his eyes, and Noatak can almost hear the man gulp.

Adequately placated, Naruq leads the way towards the entrance of the inn. Noatak finds he enjoys having Naruq in front of him. He parts the crowd like no other, leaving a clear path for Noatak to stay on.

"Is it always this busy?" Noatak asks in slight wonder as he follows Naruq inside.

"Not always," Naruq shouts a little over his shoulder. The volume had risen as they crossed the threshold. "Trade is always busiest in the summer."

There is a front desk with people welcoming guests in, but Naruq sidesteps this and goes towards a restaurant to their left. At least, Noatak thinks it's a restaurant; there are a few tables but they are rather small and very high, and there is a long counter extending the length of the room.

"Ah, you probably don't have these where you're from, eh?" Naruq chuckles a little. It is the first time Noatak hears Naruq actually laugh (kind of).

"It's just a restaurant, isn't it?" Noatak says somewhat haughtily. He is from a small village, but he's not stupid; he _does_ read.

"Bar," Naruq corrects him, and Noatak at last understands why there are so many glasses and bottles for show behind the long counter, and why the menu seems to be covered in nonsense names ("Fire Ferret Blitz", "Blue Yue", "Plum Critter"…).

"How do you know what drink has which alcohol?" Noatak asks curiously, and Naruq actually laughs a little at that.

"You'll learn kid—trust me. Maybe when you find that girl, eh?" Naruq jokes a little before heading towards the lone bartender tending her keep. Noatak hastily follows.

"Etka," Naruq greets the woman, who Noatak is surprised to see is quite slender and more or less harmless looking, although upon critical expression, Noatak can see the tight but supple muscles in her arms.

"Naruq," Etka greets the older man, her slight nod making her long hair tumble down her shoulders. It is a strange style. Unlike most other Water Tribe women, her hair is mostly undone and left wild around her head. There is nothing but a single, thick braid that hangs next to her right cheek, and Noatak can see no practical use for it there. It is halfway across the side of her head, so it is not even keeping the bangs out of her face. But he does notice the tasteful deep blue and snow white ornamentation she has worked into the braid.

Etka must notice Noatak's look, because she glances down at him and gives him a smirk. "Like what you see?" she asks, her voice smooth and almost magnetizingly confident. "I can give you one too, if you'd like. We'll match."

Noatak's cheeks flush, and he ducks his head and avoids looking at Etka, who laughs—except her laugh is more like a low, private chuckle, as if she is enjoying a secret joke only she can understand.

"Easy, Etka," Naruq says, and Noatak can practically hear the grin in his voice. "Kid's only fifteen."

" _Really_?" Etka drawls out. "Well, that's alright—I don't mind younger ones." She leans across the bar and languidly props her chin on a hand. Noatak cannot help but think the way her black hair falls from her shoulders looks like water.

"Where's Onartok?" Naruq draws back Etka's attention, and she allows Noatak some respite as she turns to Naruq.

"He's readying the ship," Etka tells him, her voice still low and smooth but considerably less alluring. "Why, do you need him?"

"This one here is looking for passage." Naruq reaches over to place a single hand on Noatak's head. The gesture is meant to be unthreatening, and somewhere, Noatak realizes this, but before his mind can catch up, his body is already flinching away from Naruq's touch. The movement is almost more like a violent jerk away, to be honest, and the two adults notice. Naruq and Etka pause to look at Noatak curiously, and, if possible, Noatak blushes even further.

"Sorry," Noatak mutters. Naruq's expression is unreadable as he studies Noatak before he moves his hand to Noatak's shoulder. He gives it a bracing squeeze as he returns to his conversation with Etka as if nothing had transpired.

"He's traveling, and needs a ship ride."

"Why Onartok specifically?" Etka asks, her voice and body language as relaxed as ever, mirroring Naruq's casualness flawlessly.

"I know him," Naruq says simply. "Where's he going this time?"

"The capital," Etka answers. "But he won't just give passage for free, even if it's you that's asking, Naruq."

"I know," Naruq says. "But this one can waterbend. Eh, kid?"

Noatak tentatively raises his head to see Naruq giving him a steady gaze and Etka watching him with one brow arched.

"Um," Noatak begins to say before losing his voice. He clears his throat before saying with a bit more vigor, "Yes, I'm a waterbender. I don't know what Onartok needs, but if he lets me on his ship, I'll do what I can." He straightens a little and says firmly, "I won't be a burden. I wasn't planning on hitching a ride without doing something for it."

Etka stares at Noatak for so long he begins to feel self-conscious. But just when he thinks he perhaps said something wrong, she turns her head to Naruq and says simply, "This one's a good one. Where'd you pick him up?"

"In a blizzard."

Etka straightens and rolls her shoulders a little. "I'll call Onartok. I'm sure once he knows the kid's a waterbender and you're asking him a favor, he'll do it. What should I call you, by the way?"

"Tarrlok." Noatak almost forgets he is using an alias, but he does not slip up on the name. Etka nods and asks, "You don't mind you're going to the capital, do you?"

"No," Noatak shakes his head. At this, Etka gives an almost ferocious grin.

"No, I guess you aren't," Etka chuckles. "It's supposed to be waterbender heaven, right?"

Noatak had not even thought about this—he had just been happy he could put more distance between himself and his father. But Etka is right; the Northern Water Tribe is a legendary conglomeration of waterbenders of all disciplines. While the Southern Water Tribe is, if Noatak has heard right, slowly returning to laudable splendor since the Hundred Year War, the Northern Water Tribe remains the pinnacle of waterbending ingenuity. Master Katara, the wife of the Avatar, is well known for visiting the capital once every couple of years to teach her knowledge that she had learned over the years.

 _Although_ , Noatak thinks to himself sullenly, _you won't find any masters for bloodbending there_. The only bloodbending master Noatak knows is his father, and he couldn't even _bend_ anymore—courtesy of the Avatar.

But Noatak does not voice any of this to Etka or Naruq. Instead he paints on a wide smile and says, "Yeah, I've never been to a big city before, and I think it'd be fun to see all the waterbending." The words sound false and empty to him, but Etka seems satisfied enough with this reply.

"I'll get Onartok," Etka says. "The phone's in the back. I'll call him."

"You guys have phones?" Noatak cannot help but ask, amazed. Etka laughs and smirks.

"Yes, we do," she says smugly. "They were just installed a couple of months ago. Let me tell you—it's amazing. I mean, Spirits, they were expensive, but they're pretty incredible. But, hold on. I'll get ahold of Onartok for you." With this, Etka turns away and disappears into a door behind her, leaving Naruq and Noatak at the bar.

Now that they are alone, Naruq says outright, "Sorry about spooking you earlier, kid. Wasn't what I meant."

Naruq meant well, but Noatak wishes he hadn't said anything at all. Now he's blushing all over again. He says so quickly he almost trips over the words, "Oh, no, I know. I was just being stupid. Don't worry about it, Naruq. Thank you."

Naruq blinks once, slowly, at Noatak, his expression looking perhaps more serious than it had been since meeting him. Then, he says carefully, "Look, kid, I know you said your business was your business, but if you—"

The door behind the bar opens again, and Noatak asks Etka, "Did you find him?" He turns his head to avoid Naruq's gaze, although he's sure he's fairly casual about it. Still, Etka pauses as she opens her mouth to speak and glances between Noatak and Naruq.

"Did I just interrupt something?" she asks, brow raised again.

"No," Naruq answers for them. "Good news?"

"Good news," Etka agrees. "Onartok is going to finish loading up the ship this evening, so you can head out with him tomorrow morning, Tarrlok."

"Great!" Noatak says, and this time his exclamation is genuine. He did not think he would be able to leave so soon. "That's great. What time tomorrow?"

"Early," Etka supplies, and Noatak makes a face. She laughs a little and says, "He can wake you up, himself. We have a spare room in the back, if you want to spend the night here."

"Oh," Noatak blinks before saying awkwardly, "You live together?"

Etka snorts and hides her mouth behind her hand for a moment before saying, "Yeah, we do, but don't worry kid—Onartok is my brother." And when Noatak visibly relaxes, Etka continues, "But even if we weren't what did you think we'd do? Have insane sex in the room next door while you're over? No one's into that except for weirdos, Tarrlok."

Her bluntness makes Noatak flush— _again_. For Spirits' sake, he's almost an adult! He wills himself to cool down as he glares at the floor, and Naruq and Etka laugh.

"Where will you be staying, Naruq?" Noatak asks, determinedly avoiding looking at Etka.

At this, Naruq's smile fades a little. "Ah, kid, I ain't staying. I'm just here to drop you off."

"Oh." Noatak is not sure what to say to this, but he wonders why he didn't consider this before. Of course, once Naruq makes certain of Noatak's safe passage, there is little for him to do anymore. There is no reason for him to stay any longer.

"Yeah, of course," Noatak shakes himself and adds on. "Sorry, that was a stupid question."

"Don't worry about it, kid," Naruq shrugs it off.

"Onartok won't be back until later tonight," Etka points out. "Until then, there's not really anything for you to do, Tarrlok. You can help Naruq trade away all his jerky or whatever. I don't think his back can handle the stress anymore." Her expression is so flat and her tone so matter-of-fact it takes a moment to realize she is joking.

"You're a riot," Naruq smiles and Noatak stifles a laugh. "That's a good idea, though. Kid, I could use a hand—if you're up to it."

"That sounds good," Noatak says. "I wanted to see the rest of the place, anyway."

"Bully him into getting you something," Etka nods agreeably. "When's your birthday, Tarrlok?"

"Um—spring. The sixteenth day of the sixth month."

"See, Naruq?" Etka shakes her head morosely. "You missed his birthday. Who does that?"

"You're right, you're right," Naruq holds up his hands and straightens. "Better set it right. C'mon kid, I'll get you a birthday present."

"Oh—thanks?" Noatak isn't sure if Naruq is serious. Regardless, he rushes to follow Naruq out of the inn, throwing up a hand to Etka as they exit.

"Thank you!" Noatak calls back to her. "See you later!"

Coolly, Etka raises a single, lazy hand, before returning to her bar, looking just the same as they had left her. From this distance, Noatak notices the beads in her braid make it look as if water is falling down her hair.

"Kid!" Naruq shouts for his attention, and Noatak turns and locates the older man just as he is giving the young man from earlier a small bag of meat for his troubles.

"Let's go," Naruq says, and Noatak picks up a rein and follows Naruq's lead into the town.


	5. 1-4

Noatak has never felt more like a child than he does while in the town. A rare grin creeps up along his face against his will—and, indeed, without his realization. He skips from stand to stand, entertaining each merchant with a teasing glance and lingering look at their wares before scampering to the next one. Behind him, Naruq stops occasionally at some stands to show his wares and trade for a few useful things—new tools, spices, vegetables, the like—that Noatak had noticed the first time he had arrived at his home. By the time Noatak had rushed to the end of the street and back, Naruq has more or less emptied his sled of his meats and most of his trinkets he had made save for a few. They were the ones Noatak had noted Tarrlok would like, if he saw them.

"Alright, kid," Naruq says briskly. "What do you want? I can probably trade these for almost anything pretty small, so just take your pick." He holds up the figurines.

"Oh," Noatak blinks. "You were serious." It is not a question.

"Yeah, I was serious kid," Naruq smiles a little.

"That's alright. You don't have to get me anything. You've done enough for me already."

"Tarrlok, kid, just let someone do something nice for you," Naruq nearly rolls his eyes. "You've got a problem with this."

Noatak flushes and glances around the nearby vendors to try and hide it, even though he can tell Naruq spotted his embarrassment. However, as is typical for Naruq, he doesn't comment on it, just patiently waits for Noatak to make his decision.

There are scads of useful things that Noatak can ask for: knives, belts, bags, gloves, scarves. He even sees scrolls and books on waterbending—expensive texts, he knew, although Naruq comments casually that those would be very nice choices. But over and over again, Noatak finds himself glancing at the penguin and polar bear dog trinkets hanging on Naruq's belt. At last, Naruq really does roll his eyes and says, "Kid, how about you take these off my hands? If you change your mind, you can trade for something yourself, later."

"Really?" Noatak's face brightens almost comically. "That's great. Thank you." He accepts Naruq's offering reverently.

"Don't worry about it, kid."

By now the sun has gone down somewhat, and Naruq glances at the sky with a slight frown.

"You'll have to get going soon, I guess," Noatak comments, trying to keep the disappointment from his tone. It is understandable, and more than that, he knew it was coming. Naruq has no reason to stay any longer. He has done his job and what he has promised. Has done more than what was likely necessary.

It dawns on Noatak that he has not really done anything to properly thank Naruq for saving his life and then some. He considers the polar bear dog carving in his hand with a small crease in his brow. Naruq has done much for Noatak, and Noatak very little for Naruq.

"Actually, I was thinking it was getting kind of late for me to walk back," Naruq says thoughtfully. "Figure it'll be too dark for me by the time I leave. Maybe I'll have to stick around for the evening."

Noatak feels his heart beat quicken slightly. "Oh." He pauses. "Yeah, I guess that would be best. For … safety reasons."

Naruq shoots Noatak an amused smile. "Yeah, kid. Safety reasons." He waves the boy over. "We should head back to the inn and make sure they have a space. Might be able to get Etka to give me a space in the back with you."

"Maybe," Noatak agrees, following Naruq back to the inn.

It is the evening now, and the bar is considerably more busy than it had been, filled with roaring men and laughing women. Some people are swaying, others are dancing, and others are falling asleep right at their tables. Noatak hesitates at the entrance, unsure of what to make of this. He is unused to this amount of activity and people. He feels himself shrink as he walks through the entrance of the inn.

"Tarrlok?" Naruq calls behind him when he realizes Noatak is not following. He strides back to Noatak with a vague frown on his face. "Are you alright, kid?"

Noatak nods and swallows. This is not so bad. It's like all the birthday parties he had attended, or the ceremonies he was forced to go to, when he was younger—except, with more adults. Usually, Tarrlok would be the one that would be taking the lead in these situations, despite his age. He could charm anyone with his grin and his words while Noatak stayed in the back and smiled and nodded politely. Social situations was one of the few things Noatak did not begrudge Tarrlok for exceeding him in—mostly. Except for the small fact that everyone adored Tarrlok but didn't seem to know Noatak's name in contrast.

Tarrlok never seemed to notice though, and Noatak was never vindictive enough to tell him. But there was always a part of Noatak that resented Tarrlok for his natural charisma, his warmth, while Noatak stood near the back and tried to shake the anxiety he felt.

Even though Tarrlok never deserved Noatak's bitterness. Tarrlok was bright and cheerful, and it was during social situations, when they could melt away from their father, that he could forget for a little while. The fact that Noatak could hold that against his baby brother—what kind of sibling was he?

"Kid," Naruq pulls him back to the present. "C'mon. No one's going to hurt you."

 _That's not the problem_ , Noatak thinks to himself, but he nods anyway and trails behind Naruq.

Moving through the crowd, admittedly, is quite easy; Naruq parts the crowd with his broad shoulders, and Noatak simply stays directly behind him and walks in the small empty space he provides before it is swallowed up again by the people. He seems to know a few people here. Every once in a while, he raises a hand and shouts a greeting, or else turns his head when his name is called out in turn. Noatak supposes this is reasonable. Naruq, after all, comes here often for trade, and he is, as far as Noatak can tell, a generally personable individual. Of course he would know people here.

Yet, this does not dull his mounting feeling of isolation. _That's stupid_ , he tells himself. _You've only known him for three days. Of course he knows other people. Why are you so upset?_

 _Stupid_ , he thinks again as they approach the bar. Etka is there, evidently not having moved at all while they were out. Her expression is cool and poised, as usual, her attitude languid and her demeanor relaxed. She is entertaining a pair of men who are asking for their cups refilled. They are not Water Tribe; their skin is too light and their hair is too dusty brown and scruffy. Traders from the Earth Kingdom, maybe. Their faces are becoming increasingly reddened—from the alcohol, Noatak guesses.

"Naruq," Etka greets them as they approach, her polite smile growing marginally wider and genuine. Her entire attitude warms—particularly when she spots Noatak floating behind the larger man.

"And Tarrlok, too," Etka says with a broad smile. "Lucky me."

"Hello," Noatak has to practically shout.

"Did Naruq get you something nice?"

Instead of hoarsening his voice, Noatak pulls out the trinkets from his pocket and presents them to her. She takes them and inspects them critically.

"Naruq, I know no one in my city would be caught dead selling such low quality toys," she smirks at him, and he snorts.

" _I_ made them."

"Well, that explains it, doesn't it?"

"They're not so bad," Noatak interjects sullenly. He quite likes them. He does not like Etka bashing them.

"I know, Tarrlok. I was just having some fun." She hands the charms back to him and smiles. "They're very nice." Then she turns back to Naruq. "What are you still doing here? Just dropping Tarrlok off? It's getting fairly late to walk back."

"Yeah, I was hoping you had some room in the back for me, or if there's a spare room in the inn."

"I don't know if there's room in the inn," frowns Etka. "As you can see, we're very busy. You'll have to ask Anana." Then she leans on one leg and tilts her head thoughtfully. "But, yes, we do have room in the back for you and Tarrlok. Since he takes up the space of about half a man." She shoots Noatak a sharp smile to show she is joking. "Onartok won't mind having you over for the night as well as Tarrlok."

"Then, I'd like to stay over."

"That's fine," Etka inclines her head in the slightest and laziest of nods. Then she reaches for a cup. "Want something? On me."

"Yeah, thanks—a whale tail island."

"Tarrlok?"

Noatak jumps a little and glances at the menu. "Oh, uh—?"

"You trying to get the kid drunk, Etka?"

"Of course," she smiles, showing all her teeth. "It's fun that way." She turns her back for a moment to gather alcohol and other things—juices, Noatak thinks—and begins mixing them.

"Aren't you only thirteen, kid?"

"Fifteen," Noatak corrects somewhat indignantly before he spots the spark of amusement in Naruq's eye.

"That's close enough," Etka laughs over her shoulder. "I was sneaking drinks from my parents' cupboard three years younger than that." She slid Naruq's drink over to him.

"That's because _you're_ an alcoholic mess," Naruq said around the rim of his cup.

"We'll start you with something easy, Tarrlok," says Etka. "Unless you've had alcohol before?"

Noatak shakes his head in the negative. There was never any alcohol in their home—which, in retrospect, Noatak thanks. He could not imagine what life would've been like if his father was drunk as well as bent on revenge.

"A blue Yue," Etka decides then, reaching under the bar and pulling out a delicate looking glass, its neck thin and glazed deep ocean blue.

The drink Etka gives Noatak is blue as well, matching the neck exactly.

"Here, kid," Naruq shifts aside a couple of loitering patrons (who move quite amicably when they see it is Naruq) and presents a stool. Noatak clambers up and grasps the neck of the glass tentatively, nervous he will break it.

"So, the best way to drink this is to drink it all in one go—but if you can't, chugging it is—"

"Etka, shut up," Naruq rolls his eyes. Etka blinks innocently, her straight face not shifting for a moment. Noatak had almost fallen for it.

"Just take a couple of sips, Tarrlok," Naruq suggests. "Don't drink too much at a time."

With a nervous crease in his forehead, Noatak brings the glass to his lips and takes his first sip. He had never had alcohol before, true, but there had been enough of it at village celebrations, and the adults would leave their cups around at times. Noatak had smelled them before, and they always smelled pungent and sharp—something that would taste disgusting, basically. He is prepared for the worst.

To his pleasant surprise, his drink tastes crisp and almost sweet—like spring water, maybe, that is slightly flavored with fruit. If there is alcohol, he cannot taste it. He sets the glass down and licks his lips a little.

"See?" Etka says. "I'm a genius."

"How is it?" Naruq ignores her.

"It's…pretty good," Noatak answers. He lifts the glass again, intending to drink more.

"Hold on, kid," Naruq says in warning, putting a hand on Noatak's arm. "Those kinds of drinks taste good because it's meant to let you drink a lot of it without tasting the alcohol. Gets you messed up faster because you drink a lot fast. Take your time."

"Oh," Noatak blinks at the innocent looking blue drink in front of him. "What kind of alcohol is in this?"

"It's sweetened rice wine," Etka tells him. "They use grapes to add sweetness, but you add more juice to make the drink sweeter."

"Is there a lot in it?"

"Quite a bit," Etka smiles mischievously.

Noatak glances at the glass again before taking another small sip. It tastes nothing more than juice. But already, Noatak is sure he can feel a vague warmth crawling up his chest and up his neck, heating his cheeks. He takes a bracing breath.

"There it is," Etka laughs as she leans forward on the bar top. "Feeling it, are you?"

Noatak nods but doesn't trust himself to speak. Even his ears are tingling. Can two sips of this drink really do so much?

"Etka, one more," Naruq orders in the meanwhile, handing her back his cup, now drained.

"Coming right up," Etka promises, taking the cup and turning again.

"You alright, kid?" Naruq asks as Noatak takes one more, small sip. The taste is almost addicting, but Noatak attempts to keep Naruq's warning in mind. He has seen some sensational situations where village men had gotten too drunk and had gotten into all sorts of trouble. He has no desire to be one of those men.

"Relax, kid," Naruq pats Noatak's shoulders.

"Naruq!" a voice booms from behind, and Noatak and the man in question turn to see a hulking Water Tribe man approaching. His hair is decorated with feathers and beads and has three braids hanging on the side of his face, the rest falling just at his shoulders. His nose is slightly crooked—perhaps broken one too many times—his shoulders and chest are broader than Naruq's, and on his right arm are twisting tattoos of traditional Water Tribe design, including a prominent mark of the brave curling around the arc of his shoulder.

"Onartak!" Naruq returns the loud call with one of his own, breaking into excited laughter. He embraces his friend and gives him a few slaps on the back.

"How are you?" Naruq asks, a grin on his face, and Onartak replies, "Better than you. What's with this flab?" Onartak gives a playful punch at Naruq's stomach. "Don't tell me you're getting soft on me."

"Thought it was time I give you a fighting chance," Naruq snorts, and Onartak chuckles.

"Nah, you're just getting old, old man."

"If I'm old, then you're on your death bed," Naruq replies. "Do us all a favor and keel over already." For effect, Naruq clutches his own chest and bends over, as if in pain.

"Yeah, and I'll drag you with me," Onartak says, slapping Naruq on the back. "Heard you brought a waterbending kid. Is this all I'm good for? Pack mule for your strays?"

"Ah, that's right," Naruq says, straightening and sweeping a hand in Noatak's direction. "Onartak, this is the kid. Tarrlok, this is Onartak."

"Hello," Noatak greets the man. He places the glass on the bar and puts a fist against the palm of his other hand before bowing a little.

"No need for that!" Onartak hoots. "We're all men here. Nice to meet you, Tarrlok. A friend of Naruq's is a friend of mine." He grasps Noatak's forearm and slaps another hand on his shoulder, sending a genuine vibration through Noatak's bones. Or maybe he just feels it more because of his drink. Naruq laughs at Noatak's expression, and Onartak does as well (or, at least, he laughs more). After a moment, Noatak hears himself chuckling along.

"What business do you have in the capital, Tarrlok?" Onartak asks amicably, and Noatak answers with ease, "Just moving through. Maybe find a waterbending master that will teach me."

"A master, huh?" Naruq raises an eyebrow before thanking Etka. She has returned with his whale tail island. "Interested in being a master bender, kid?"

"It'd be nice."

"That'd be cool," Etka adds. "I can say I know a master waterbender."

"He's not a master," Naruq points out, and Noatak replies smartly, "Not yet."

This sends a chorus of "Oho!"s and "Okay, kid"s through their small crowd, and Noatak feels himself smiling, feeling oddly sociable. _The alcohol_ , he thinks to himself vaguely. He feels a dull spike of panic, however; what if he slips up, says something about he is, practically, a master bloodbender, and the son of the mafia boss Yakone? _Careful_ , he says, but the thought is hard to grasp. Noatak reaches back and grasps his drink and nurses it absentmindedly.

The evening wears on from there, with the bar actually increasing in activity as the hours pass by, not waning. This takes Noatak by surprise, who becomes more and more lethargic and time goes on. In fact, he ends up putting his glass on the bar out of fear it will slip through his fingers. However, he does not move at all, just stays on his stool and watches the adults banter, occasionally adding something in. To his satisfaction, they laugh appropriately, and apparently genuinely. He feels uncharacteristically giddy, and he is laughing along with everyone much more than is typical, but he finds he does not mind the feeling, although at one point in the evening he finds himself sorely wishing Tarrlok is here with him. As bright as the room already is, Tarrlok would've made it that much brighter.

At some point in the night, Naruq is lifting Noatak by the armpits and hefting him to a room behind the bar.

"Alright kid," he rumbles into Noatak's ear. "I think you've had enough."

Noatak hiccups and shakes his head. "No, I want to stay out there with everyone."

"If you get ahold of yourself, then I'll let you," Naruq says as he maneuvers the storage rooms and brings them to a comfortably decorated sitting room, and a small bedroom beyond that. Noatak is too dazed to really take in his surroundings.

"I'm fine," Noatak says stubbornly as Naruq places him atop a bed. He kneels so he can look at Noatak in the eye.

Noatak feels a harsh pang in his head. He grimaces, puts a hand against his cheek and is surprised to find it wet.

"Did I cry?" Noatak exclaims, suddenly feeling panicked. _In front of everyone?_

"Yeah, kid," Naruq replies flatly. "You did."

Noatak stares at Naruq, vaguely horrified. He cried in front of _everyone_ in the bar? What kind of man does that?

"Don't worry about it," Naruq seems to answer his thoughts.

"What did I say?" Noatak presses. "What was I saying before I started crying? What was everyone else saying?"

"Tomorrow." Naruq rises from his crouching position on the floor, intending to leave. "You don't feel like you're going to throw up, do you?"

"What? No. Naruq, wait, what did I _say_?"

Naruq hesitates at the door, slightly ajar, the faint light and the uproar from the bar spilling into the room.

"Please," Noatak adds, his voice pitching a little in desperation. This was _important_. If he said anything about bloodbending—about Yakone—he may very well have to leave this city tonight, by himself, face the world alone once again…

"Nothing, kid," Naruq sighs. "Just said you miss your brother."

"My brother." Noatak feels himself relax. That is not so bad. That could mean a whole flurry of things to a bunch of strangers.

"Yeah, your brother," Naruq hesitates for a moment, as if contemplating saying what he's about to say. "Your brother, Tarrlok. Right?"

Noatak feels his heart lurch before freezing. His mouth goes dry. He genuinely does not know what to say.

"Don't worry about it, kid," Naruq sighs again. "Shouldn't have said anything. Go to sleep."

The door closes, leaving Noatak in darkness.


	6. 1-5

"Noatak," Onartak is the one that wakes him up the next morning. Noatak stirs and immediately shrinks underneath his sheets as his still-sleepy mind catches up with his ears. Onartak had called him "Noatak", not "Tarrlok", which meant last night was not some horrible nightmare. His eyes focus on Onartak's broad face warily. It is not unkind, however. Actually, it looks vaguely amused. He is holding a glass of something, which he places on the bedside table next to Noatak.

"Rough night?" Onartak asks innocently, his brow arching.

"Uh," Noatak croaks out as last when he realizes he's meant to respond. _Spirits_ , his voice sounds absolutely terrible. "Kind of. Had a couple of drinks with some friends."

"More like only one," Onartak laughs a little. "Didn't realize it was possible to be such a lightweight."

At this, Noatak bristles a little. "I'm not a _lightweight_. It was just my first time drinking, that's all…"

Onartak laughs harder at Noatak's reaction. "Alright, alright, don't take it so hard, kid." He straightens and says, "We're planning on heading out in about an hour, so get ready and get your shit together and all that. Hope you're prepared to show me some waterbending tricks. And, also, if you're feeling like shit, which Naruq said you might, I strongly recommend drinking some of that." Onartak nods his chin towards the glass on the table before shooting Noatak a friendly grin and leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

That is all. No mention of the fact that Noatak cried in front of everyone last night, or how he lied about his entire identity. Just regular Onartak, treating Noatak no different from how he had when they met yesterday. Noatak stares at the closed door of the bedroom before throwing off the sheets and rising at last.

And immediately regretting it. With an involuntary hiss, he puts a hand to his temple and furrowed his brow as a harsh pang resonated through his head. It takes a few moments, but the sudden throbs and the vertigo wear off, however, and Noatak immediately reaches for the glass of liquid on the table and takes a large gulp—before gagging. It tastes bitter— _disgusting_ —but after a second of hesitation, he steels himself and downs the entire thing in three swallows. The best way to take gross medicine is _fast as possible_ , as his mother used to say. And if it is for the sake of getting rid of this _pounding_ headache, Noatak would gladly drink more.

Tarrlok would probably take small sips of this and make faces each time, as if surprised with every new mouthful that the taste has not improved. It had always been like that. Noatak suffered through things as quick as possible. Tarrlok suffered through things slowly and hesitantly. _Just get it over with_ , Noatak would whisper to Tarrlok each night during their hunting trips. _Just get it over with and we'll be home soon. It'll be fine, don't think about it too much. Just do it._

And still, _still_ , Tarrlok would hesitate. His hands would shudder as he went to bloodbend the animals in the tundra. His throat would gulp as he felt the first tremors of resistance resonate from the wolves to his fingers. His eyes would tear up with every whine from them he heard.

Noatak was not like that. Noatak would never do that. He would close his eyes, gather himself, hear their heartbeats, open his eyes, and they would be kneeling at his feet, their spines straining against their skin, tails between their legs, their chests heaving.

He never spared a moment to feel guilty. He could not afford to. He could not afford to let the sickness spread past his gut, or the throbbing in his heart to infect the rest of his chest. All he knew was his father was watching, and Tarrlok was there, and he had to protect Tarrlok. If that meant being the genius, the _prodigy_ , he would do it.

(Besides, he had never been the prodigy of anything else, before.)

Noatak does not feel as bad anymore, so he can only assume the medicine or whatever is working. He slides off the bed and runs his hands through his hair and scowls as his fingers roughly snap through the burrs there. Regardless, he pulls his hair into a ponytail before looking around the room.

There is a chest of drawers and a closet, which he inspects and finds there are some clothes that look far too large for him, along with some towels and bedding and pillowcases. He expects about the same in the chest of drawers, but explores it anyway to put his curiosity at rest and is surprised to see all of the drawers are empty save for one near the middle, where a modest pile of clothes lie with a note on top: _Some clothes we had lying around. Hopefully some are your size? Let someone know if not. Wuv you, Etka._

 _Wuv you_ , Noatak reread the last line before snorting. Is this woman really fully grown? But the smile spreads across his face regardless.

There is also a small bathroom attached to the room, and it has a shower. This is almost exciting for Noatak. In his village, only the chief's house had a fully working shower, and even then, it was not very efficient; it was expensive, as the plumbing it required was irritating to install underneath the frost of the north pole, and it took much more energy to run it than it did to just use the public baths and steam huts or use waterbending to clean oneself. These were the things most people did. Noatak and Tarrlok would scrub and rinse each other, even, in their bathroom when they were younger, and entertain themselves by making funny shapes with water when they were able.

Onartak _did_ say they are leaving in an hour…Perhaps Noatak could risk a very fast shower. Hesitantly, he inspects the shiny metal knobs beneath the showerhead before shrugging and twisting it. With a slight splutter, water pours from the showerhead in a pleasantly pressured stream, and Noatak grins a little. He twists a little more, and before long, the water is hot, and the bathroom is steaming.

Noatak strips out of his clothes and hesitates, wondering where he should put them. He folds them and places them on top of the sink counter before undoing the ponytail he had just done and stepping into the shower. It is a novel experience—he has never bathed where he is not pouring the water himself. But the water is coming automatically, leaving Noatak to stand under it and absorb the warmth undoing the aches in his muscles. The heat is relaxing, and he allows himself to close his eyes and enjoy it for a moment.

Then he remembers there will be people waiting for him, and he hastens to finish. He spots some bottles of soap on the floor of the shower, and he grasps a random one before reading the label: "body wash". Frowning, he sets that one down and grabs another. "Conditioner". He has never used conditioner in his life. Didn't only rich women use it for their hair?

Although, frankly, he has never used soap from bottles, either. Usually, he used soap from animal fat, although his village did import some expensive soaps and shampoos from other towns. But, those were usually expensive. His family never had much use for them.

Still, Noatak is not completely ignorant; he finds the bottle labeled "shampoo" and squeezes a generous amount into his hand and begins rubbing it into his hair. He finds he has used too much, however. Soap suds are falling into his eyes and covering his shoulders, and he rinses out the soap quickly and washes out his eyes. He continues to wash his face and body underneath the warm downpour of water before glancing at the bottle of conditioner, left untouched.

 _Whatever,_ Noatak thinks to himself—when will he actually be in another shower, again?—before squeezing out a little and running it through his hair. It leaves it slippery and smooth as he exits the shower. It is honestly the most luxurious he has ever felt before.

Some digging around in the cupboard underneath the sink unearths multiple new toothbrushes and some toothpaste, which Noatak helps himself to. After, he goes back into the room and grabs one of the towels he had found in the closet and dries himself off, although he waterbends the moisture from his hair. Honestly, he doesn't need a towel for his body, either, but they looked very soft when he saw them earlier, and he was right; they feel very comfortable. He figures he is allowed his small indulgences while he is on the run.

Luckily, some of the clothes Etka had left in the drawer fit quite well. They are simple, straightforward Water Tribe style, with the shirt being pale blue, loose, and sleeveless, the leggings black, and the anorak and pants deep blue, with white fur trim on the ends. She even left socks, which he slips on. They are warm and comfortable—almost as good as the ones his mother makes.

Noatak dismisses the thoughts of his mother as he continues to put on his boots. He then returns to the bathroom and picks up his clothes. Remembering Naruq's gift, Noatak checks the pockets of the pants and finds the charms still there. Relieved, he puts them in the pocket of the pants he is currently wearing before tying up his hair and exiting the bedroom.

The room outside of it seems to be a living room, with a sofa and a couple of armchairs around a table and what looks to be a radio. The walls are made of wood, and pictures hang from them, or else interesting trinkets and items Onartak and Etka had no doubt collected over their years of trading. In the middle of the room, there are a couple of bags, and as Noatak hesitates, wonder where he should go next, Naruq appears from somewhere else, a smaller backpack in his hand.

"Noatak," he greets the young man, and Noatak starts a little at being addressed by his real name before raising a hand somewhat sheepishly.

"Good morning," he says. "Um…thanks for last night. Sorry about everything."

Both of them know his apology is not just for getting drunk and making Naruq carry Noatak to his bedroom. Naruq only shrugs, however, and replies, "Don't worry about it, kid"—like he always does. Except, he genuinely seems to mean it (like he has every other time), and Noatak visibly relaxes. It is ridiculous; he has barely known Naruq for all of four or five days, and the idea that he dislikes Noatak bothers him. Why should Noatak care? He is a vagabond now, a wanderer. He will never stay in the same place again—or else, will never, _can_ never, live as Noatak of the Northern Water Tribe again.

The thought hurts more than he expects, which is stupid. What did he expect? But he supposes he had never given it much consideration before.

"This is for you," Naruq hands Noatak the bag. "Figured you'd need your own. Kind of small, but it's sturdy."

"Thank you," Noatak says genuinely as he takes the bag. He puts his folded clothes into it and, after a moment of consideration, takes the charms from his pocket and ties them to the zipper of one of the pockets of the backpack. He slings it onto his back after that.

"So," Noatak asks somewhat awkwardly, "are you leaving soon? You said you couldn't stay, right?"

"Yeah," Naruq agrees. "Probably going to leave as soon as I see you and Onartok off."

There is a moment of silence between them, and Noatak shuffles a little, unsure of what to say.

"So," Naruq begins a conversation the same way Noatak had, "Tarrlok, huh?"

"Uh," Noatak blinks. He should have, of course, seen this coming. "Yeah. He's my little brother."

Naruq nods. "Yeah, you said as much last night." He pauses, as if considering whether or not he should continue down this road, before abandoning tact and asking, "He have anything to do with you running around in a blizzard by yourself?" Naruq hesitates again before adding, "Is he okay?"

Noatak's gaze shifts to the floor. "He, um, doesn't have anything to do with me being in the blizzard." _Not directly, at least_. "And he's…he's…"

What is he supposed to say? That Tarrlok is fine? He's not _fine_ , he hasn't been fine since he was _seven_. And he certainly cannot be fine now. But he cannot say that to Naruq—or rather, he cannot say it _aloud_ , because Noatak is afraid he might start crying or something again. But he cannot bring himself to lie either. As Naruq had said so when they first met, it is in bad taste to lie to the individual who saved your life.

Naruq does not need an answer, however, and he says, "Forget I asked anything kid." Then he crouches so he can look into Noatak's downcast eyes. "But, listen, I know I said your business is your business, but the fact is, you're still a kid. If you need help—anything—just let me know. I'm not one to judge."

 _You say that_ , Noatak thinks to himself numbly, _but what would you say if you_ knew _?_ Bloodbending is regarded as the ultimate taboo of waterbending, and is it any wonder? Despite how good he is at it, how powerful and accomplished and enlightened he feels when he does it, or when he listens to the beating hearts of those around him, he knows why it is considered _unseemly_. To reach into someone's body and _yank_ them around like a doll—like a _thing_ , some incidental toy that one could tear apart and dissect as they saw fit—it must be terrifying.

Tarrlok certainly looked terrified, when Noatak bloodbent him.

But Noatak just nods and says, "Thanks, Naruq." He does not raise his gaze to meet Naruq's, and the older man continues to look up at Noatak, perhaps waiting for him to say more, before giving a minute sigh and rising.

"Sure thing, kid," he says. "Anything." Then he waves him over to bags in the room. "Help me move these, but be careful with them—they have goods Onartak is going to trade for at the capital."

Noatak wordlessly nods and takes one of the bags. Naruq takes the remaining two easily. Noatak follows the man through the doors of the living room and out into the now empty bar—save for a few tenants who quietly snored on some tables scattered around in the back.

"Noatak, my love," Etka greets them as they appear behind her.

"Yeah, good to see you too, Etka."

"Oh, yeah, hi Naruq," Etka feigns dismissal. She waves a hand to usher Naruq along, who snorts good naturedly before going around the bar and outside—to the port, Noatak assumed.

"How's my darling?" Etka grins as she drapes an easy arm along Noatak's shoulders and leans into him, adding her weight atop the bag he is carrying, and he knows she knows it. The mischievous glint in her eyes is a dead giveaway.

"I'm doing good," Noatak says honestly. "Thanks for the clothes."

"As expected, you look dashing in them," Etka flatters him, and despite anticipating it, Noatak's cheeks heat under her easy gaze. She grins like a treacherous spirit before releasing him.

"It was nice having you," she says, her tone unchanged but her expression somewhat more serious. Or, as serious as it could be. "Come back whenever you want to—I'll mix as many drinks as you want."

"Thanks," Noatak says, and he actually kind of means it in response to the drinks, as well.

"Oh, here." Etka reaches for a pen and some paper and scribbles a sequence of numbers on it before folding it and stuffing it into Noatak's backpack. "It's our phone number. Give us a call if you ever need anything, or just want to talk or whatever. Especially when you become a master. Onartak will pick you up and you'll show us all your cool moves, yeah?"

"Yeah," Noatak agrees with a smile. In truth, he will likely never speak to these people again—he shouldn't, and when will he get his hands on a phone anytime soon, anyway? But the gesture touches him all the same. And, when he meets Etka's gaze, something tells him she expects she will not hear from him anytime soon, either. But she gives him a reassuring smile anyway.

"Anything," she repeats to him, like Naruq had said earlier. Noatak wonders if they rehearsed this or something, but it makes Noatak feel better regardless. He has never had others he felt comfortable depending on before—although, of course, he could not _completely_ depend on them. He is, after all, a bloodbender. It is branded into his identity, an ugly scar that he just happens to be able to hide more easily than others. But how many backs would turn on him if they knew?

Noatak drifts outside of the inn and looks around for Naruq, but he has of course disappeared towards the docks. Noatak hesitates for a moment, wondering if he should go back inside and ask Etka for directions, before he pauses and closes his eyes. _An experiment_.

Noatak had always been able to tell when other people were around and, more often than not, what they were doing. It had always been their blood flow, their heartbeats, the shift in their veins whenever they moved or spoke or _lied_. If he could sense blood, couldn't he sense water? It would make sense, he thinks bitterly, for a prodigal bloodbender to at least manage something like that for waterbending.

It takes a moment of meditation, but eventually, Noatak feels the pull of water tugging at his skin and his chest. The ocean, the spirit La, whispers to him, coaxes him towards to water. He will always be able to find water, no matter where he is.

For some reason, the thought comforts him. Perhaps he has not been totally abandoned by the spirits after all—despite being an abhorrent perversion of waterbending, he thinks with a bitter twist of his mouth.

 _Stop_ , he insists. _This is supposed to be a new start. You're not a bloodbender anymore. Just a regular waterbender. Act like it_.

But he _is_. He _is_ a bloodbender and no amount of pretending will ever deaden the pulses of life he feels everywhere he goes, the hums of life that seem to vibrate in his eardrums—

Noatak abruptly begins to follow the pull of the ocean through the city, following a somewhat familiar route that he took with Naruq when they first arrived here. Or, at least, the walls and buildings he is passing don't look _completely_ unfamiliar.

His senses are well on point, however; he arrives at the port just as Naruq is waving at Onartak, shouting something about saving Noatak from Etka when he spots the young man approaching. He snorts and smiles a little, shakes his head somewhat as if he should've figured as much.

"Remembered how we got here yesterday?" he asks.

"No, I just—followed the ocean."

It is an explanation that Naruq can never possibly understand—not really—but he says, "Smart kid." He even gives him a pat on the back.

Onartak waves a hand from the deck of the boat. It is a modestly sized one, clearly made for swift but short trips made often. It is built lightly, with multiple sails to catch as much wind as possible.

"That the last bag, Noatak?" Onartak asks.

"Yeah!" Noatak shouts back, and Onartak clambers down the pier to pick up the sack.

"Thanks," Onartak says as he takes it. "We'll be heading out soon, so do whatever mushy shit you got to do now." Onartak makes a disgusted face before replacing it with a grin and heading towards the ship.

Naruq and Noatak stand in silence for a moment, watching Onartak's broad back, before they both begin at the same time:

"Naruq—"

"Kid—"

They pause, and Naruq laughs and Noatak gives a small smile.

"You start, kid."

"Thank you," he says for the umpteenth time, but that does not lessen his gratitude. "You saved my life and you helped me get a ship. You gave me gifts and you took care of me. It's more than I expected—more than anything anyone's done for me before, so, thank you." That last part he perhaps should not have said—it alludes to a hard upbringing Noatak knew Naruq already suspects—but Naruq only nods.

"You're welcome," he says instead of the usual "don't worry about it", as Noatak expected he would say. "And Noatak, I'll be honest with you—it's pretty obvious you've been through some tough stuff in your life. More than the usual kid your age should, I think. But." He places a hand on Noatak's head, and he does not flinch away this time—with some effort. Its weight is solid and warm. "I think you've come out of it just fine. And, listen, I don't know what business you have with your brother, but I want you to know—you shouldn't blame yourself."

The words are wildly unexpected, and Noatak swallows down a sudden lump in his throat. He ducks his head as much as he can underneath Naruq's hand.

 _What do you know?_ he wants to say to the older man, but that would be disrespectful. What did he know? What did he know about the hunting trips, the times he had put real fear in his own little brother's eyes, the time he reached into his veins and arteries and wouldn't let go? _What do you know?_

But Naruq seems to hear his thoughts anyway, because he continues, "You seem like a genuinely good kid. And if you had to do some things you regret—some things with your brother—look, I'm not going to tell you you're right in doing them, because I don't know anything about the circumstances. But—kid, look at me."

The words are so authoritative that Noatak looks up and meets Naruq's steady steel eyes. "There's no shame in trying to get out of bad situations," he tells Noatak. "Don't beat yourself up. You're no coward. You're a person trying to survive."

Noatak stares at Naruq and thinks to himself, _But I could've done so much_ more _. I could've dragged Tarrlok with me. I could've stopped my father so much earlier. I could've_ killed him _that night and if Tarrlok didn't come with me at least he wouldn't have to deal with him at home anymore…_

The sudden thought disturbs him, even though a part of him knows it makes perfect sense. His father was right there, defenseless, pathetic—Noatak even had him in the _perfect_ bloodbending grip. Just one more squeeze would've done it. He was even _tempted_ …

Why didn't he?

 _Because what kind of kid can kill his own father?_

But he's _not_ a kid. Not just any kid.

Naruq seems to notice some of this internal conflict pass across Noatak's face, but he doesn't comment on it. Instead he spins him around and pushes him to the ship.

"Get going," Naruq says, "or Onartak will leave you."

His tone is joking, but regardless, Noatak does not want to keep Onartak waiting. With a nod, he strides to the ship, its captain lounging on a mast, patiently waiting for Noatak.

"Ready?" he asks, not unkindly, and Noatak gives a single nod. He boards the ship as Onartak lets down the sails and raises the anchor.

"Good luck!" Naruq calls from the shore, a single hand raised. Noatak turns and returns it, his expression carefully composed. He feels as if he should say something to Naruq—thank you, again, for the advice or something, or tell him something about the life he is trying to advise. Something about this goodbye feels…incomplete.

 _If I could've chosen any other father, it would've been you_ , Noatak suddenly thinks to himself, but it does not seem like the sort of thing to yell out to a man he's not even known for a week—despite how certain he feels of this, now. Comfortable, understood, respected, _safe_ —aren't those things a father is supposed to make a son feel, and isn't that what Naruq had made Noatak feel these past few days? But Naruq is quickly fading from his vision, and Noatak cannot find the adequate words to express his sudden rush of emotions in such a short time.

"Thank you again!" Noatak finally settles on shouting. "I'll never forget it!" And that is all he can offer, because he will never be able to return with a gift, or news of his success, but he is sure Naruq understands. But by then they are quite a ways out and he wonders if Naruq has even heard. But the man waves his hand to the side slightly, so Noatak hopes he has.

Eventually, the view of the port disappears, as does Naruq, and Noatak settles for watching the town go by as the drifted along the coast before they are out in the ocean. And while Noatak knew it was unlikely he would ever see him again, he clung to the small hope that yes, perhaps he will see Naruq again someday.

"Aren't we hugging the coastline?" Noatak asks Onartak, who is at the bow staring off at the sky, perhaps charting their course, although Noatak is not sure how he can without any stars in sight.

"Nah, the coast gives way into a bay a couple leagues out," Onartak says. "Faster to go around in a straight line. Don't worry kid, I'll get you where you need to go."

Noatak blushes. "I know. That's not what I meant."

Onartak says, "Don't worry, Noatak. Didn't mean it like that." He turns and strides over to Noatak, pats his shoulders so hard that Noatak shook. So it wasn't just the alcohol yesterday. "Learn to relax."

"Everyone says that," Noatak says almost sullenly.

"Maybe you should start taking their advice," Onartak laughs. Then he beckons Noatak to follow him across the deck. "Come on, kid. I'll show you where you can take a nap or whatever you kids do nowadays."

"Is it going to take that long?"

"Not more than a day, day and a half, but you might get bored," Onartak shrugs.

"Don't you need me to waterbend or whatever?"

"Nah, not now," Onartak waves a hand dismissively as they take the steps below deck. "The wind is on our side today, so there's really no need for you to bend."

"Oh," Noatak blinks. He cannot help but feel like a freeloader in that case—after all, he came on this ship fully intending to work for the space he was given here—but if Onartak does not seem to mind, Noatak supposes he should not, either. It is not like he had been overly eager to stand on deck and practice one of the most simple minded push-pull techniques known to waterbenders.

Onartak shows him a couple of separate rooms which all have four cots in them and says Noatak is free to choose whichever one he likes. They all look exactly the same to him, however, so he just goes to the one that is closest to the stairs going back above deck, if he ever wants to escape to fresh air.

Noatak tries to take Onartak's advice and kill time by napping, but the rocking of the ship keeps him awake. Not that he feels sick or uncomfortable—on the contrary, he feels more awake and aware than ever. He can almost sense the call of the water just beyond the trivial layer of wood against his back. If he closes his eyes, he can hear the rush of it deep within his skull, almost taste the salt on his lips. His fingers itch, and he begins to breathe in the same rhythm as the waves outside.

He will not be able to sleep. Noatak abruptly rises and stalks outside. Better to be underneath the sun, where he can _actually_ see the sea, instead of lying by himself inside.

Onartak is at the wheel, steering idly but not really seeming concerned—and Noatak can see why. The water is clear for now, with incidental chucks of ice harmlessly sliding past the stern. Noatak seats himself at the bow, where he can overlook the approaching water, so deep blue it looks almost black. Unknown, infinitely deep. He closes his eyes and meditates.

He has never done this, really. His father, despite his insistence in their mastery of water and bloodbending, had never emphasized meditation or quiet focus in his lessons. They were all aggressive, fast paced, quick and dirty and taught how to _kill_. But Noatak is focusing now, listening to the rush of water as it split past the bow. Eventually, he almost cannot feel the slight lift and fall of the ship anymore, just drinks in the smell of salt and the feeling of ocean spray sprinkling his cheeks. It's chilly out, and the splashes of water are even chillier, but Noatak feels anything but cold. On the contrary, he is tempted to dive into the water and submerge himself under the waves, allow La to embrace him in his cold arms and never let him go.

Noatak opens his eyes and sees nothing has changed—the sky is still blue, the ocean still stretches behind him, and when he looks back, Onartak is looking straight ahead, steering. When he seeks Noatak shift, he looks down and catches his eye.

"You napping while sitting up?" Onartak teases him, and Noatak smiles a little in return before turning towards the sea again.

He rises, feeling a surge of listlessness, and peers over the edge of the ship. White foam rolls along the sides of the ship as it cut through the water. With a steadying breath, Noatak steps back and slips into a ready stance. His father had taught him this much, at least, in the technicalities of waterbending.

Noatak raises his arms and waits patiently as the water obligingly rushes up and curls over the edge of the ship. He coaxes it closer before bending his knees and shifting his weight around in a deliberate, steady rhythm. The water follows his palms as he runs it in a ring around him. It's hardest when the water is behind his back, because he cannot see it. There are lapses in control there, where he loses confidence in himself, but he reminds himself he cannot see blood either, more often than not, and he never has trouble with controlling _that_. The water does not shudder as much as it passes behind him after that.

The movements are simple, to be sure, but Noatak finds the repetitiveness comforting. Occasionally he will bend the water into different shapes, or freeze it or make it begin to steam, but he always returns to the same ring of water circling him. _Push and pull_. On this ship, in the middle of the ocean, away from his father's intimidating glare, Noatak begins to feel this.

Eventually, he bores, and he sends the water back into the ocean. He looks up, and Onartak is still at the wheel, evidently humming tunelessly to himself, looking utterly uninterested in what Noatak is doing. He is not sure if that is true or not, but he appreciates the gesture all the same. He finds he values privacy very much—perhaps because he felt he had so little when he was younger.

The pair of them partake in some casual small talk—although mostly it's Onartak talking because he is good at it and enjoys it, and Noatak prefers it so. There is little in his life he is willing to share, but Onartak does not seem to share similar qualms. He opens up his life to Noatak at each careful question he asks, and soon Noatak feels as if he knows Onartak as well as Tarrlok. His favorite dish is seal soup, and he absolutely hates jellied urchins, which is considered a Water Tribe delicacy. Onartak met Naruq in an unfortunate joke set up by Etka, who had been feeling particularly malicious that day and used Naruq, an innocent middle aged man at the time, to rile Onartak up.

"Why, what did you do?" Noatak asks, and Onartak laughs.

"Everyone's always blaming me when they hear this story," he comments, although his tone is good natured. "Honestly, I don't even remember anymore—but Etka probably does. Don't tell her I said that."

 _When would I even have the chance?_ But Noatak nods anyway, if only to speed the story along.

"Well, I was just walking into the bar, and she and I, we were still mad at each other for something stupid—like I said, I don't remember—but here's this older guy sitting at the bar, minding his own business, having a nice conversation with Etka, and when she sees me, she announces to me and the entire bar that she's found her new love and she's going to run away with him."

Noatak struggles to hold back a strangled choke. While that does not seem too out of character for Etka, he can imagine how Naruq must have looked at the time. Vaguely horrified, no doubt.

"Well, now, Etka's my only sister, and since our mom died the previous year we were still pretty protective of each other." Noatak blinks at the casual mention of Onartak's mother's passing, but the older man glosses over it as if it's nothing. "And then there's this old guy that's clearly way too old for my big sister—like, way too old, you know—so of course, I try and talk her out of it, and we get in a _huge_ argument." Onartak rolls his eyes at the memory. "And, obviously, it turns back around to _whatever_ we were arguing about before, but I don't really remember—well, I've said that already. Anyways, at some point, I'm turning on Naruq and getting in _his_ face, and, well, I bet you know he didn't really appreciate that."

Noatak makes a sympathetic grimace.

"Anyways, all I'm saying is, if I'm ever in a fight, Naruq's the first guy I'm going to call," Onartak winks. Noatak grins a little at that. _Me too,_ he's tempted to say.

"And after all that, the bar's emptied and here's me and Naruq, all messed up and on the bar counter, and Etka telling us to stop ruining the varnish." Onartak laughs to himself. "And she goes around like nothing's happened, even though Naruq and I know she's set us up. But she still says she has _no_ idea what we're talking about whenever we bring it up. She does that _eye_ thing—you know." Onartak does a dismally inadequate imitation of Etka's wide eyed, ever so _slightly_ mocking innocent expression, but Noatak gets the point, and he nods and chuckles.

"Yeah, I know."

"Well, beating each other up over nothing—it warms you up to a man," Onartak shrugs. "Naruq had to stay in town for a bit after that. I roughed him up a bit. But he stayed at the inn those nights, and we ran into each other a lot. Eventually, he started helping me load up the ship and started trading with me and everything, and we've been friends since." Onartak says this last part matter-of-factly, as if he would've never expected anything else. With the story finished, Noatak tilts his head and glances out to the ocean and the distant horizon. The sky is beginning to darken into indigo—the type Noatak would like to drown in, if waterbenders could drown. When he looks behind him, he sees the coast—a harsh outcropping of ice and stone—at their side.

"We'll be there soon," Onartak confirms what Noatak is hoping, and he cannot stop the leap in his chest. _The capital._ Waterbending heaven, they say. Where the masters reside. _Real_ masters, not ones that try and hone other human beings to be weapons, but people that seek to pass on their knowledge and experience for the sake of keeping their culture and traditions alive. Will he find one willing to teach him? Besides the obvious fact that no waterbender will ever tutor a bloodbender—not that Noatak plans to advertise this skill—he is no one. A peasant, random village kid that has wandered into the capital of his nation without any recommendations or referrals. How many renegade waterbenders has the capital been forced to accommodate? In the end, he will not be treated any different, which is both refreshing and frustrating.

He will take any master, he decides. Any one that will take him. They do not need to be the best, or the most popular, just capable. That is all Noatak can ask for and needs.

"You know what the plan is, when you get there?" Onartak asks. Noatak frowns a little.

"What do you mean?"

"Where you'll be staying, how you'll find a master, what you'll be doing…"

"Oh." Noatak pauses. "I…figured it'd be pretty easy to find a waterbending master. I guess if I don't find one I'll probably just find work or…maybe find passage to the Earth Kingdoms. And I can stay in an inn?" The more he spoke the more he is aware of how little an idea he had of what he would do when he actually got to the capital. Onartak has a smile on his face.

"Well, kid, if you want to, you can stay with me for a night or two. It'll take me a bit to trade all of the goods away and reload the ship. I'll probably be in the city for most of the week, so you can find a master or go to the Earth Kingdoms or whatever whenever you want."

"Thank you," Noatak says gratefully. It is relaxing to know he will not be alone in the Northern City—and, despite himself, he is not ready to completely separate himself from these people who have shown him kindness and hospitality.

Darkness is just falling when they arrive at the icy wall of the capital. It is so dark and well camouflaged Noatak almost misses it. The long, solid wall is quite literally built from the glaciers surrounding it, the ice flowing out of the cragged walls at its side. The Northern Water Tribe insignia is etched into its face, grand and proud. As they approach, Onartak goes below decks and returns with a horn, which he blows to announce their presence.

"Not as aware of what's around at night," Onartak explains with a mocking shake of the head. Noatak snorts a little as a light appears at the top of the gate.

"Who's there?"

"Onartak with goods to trade and a friend."

"Who's the friend?"

Onartak raises an eyebrow at Noatak, and he realizes Onartak is waiting for Noatak to introduce himself. This makes sense; the only reason Onartak knows Noatak's name is Noatak is because he let it slip in a drunken stupor.

"Noatak," Noatak shouts up, feeling self-conscious about using any other name, now.

There is a moment of quiet where the light disappears from the top of the wall. Then, someone calls, "Alright, we'll open the gate for you. Keep back."

Noatak eyes the ice wall in front of him. They are directly in front of the insignia, and he can see the individual, painstaking etches made for each gracefully curved wave in the symbol. There are no hinges, and there are no doors in this wall. Yet, the man called it a "gate". What gate?

His question is answered almost immediately; the wall rumbles, and as he watches, two smooth cuts slice down the wall, and the insignia sinks below the ocean waves. Beyond is a waterway, which the ship is pulled into seemingly by itself. With a quick glance upwards, however, Noatak spots the line of waterbenders both operating the gate and bending the ocean to coax the ship forward. He has never seen waterbending so blatantly integrated into a society right from the get-go. _Waterbending heaven_.

As they enter the waterway, the wall behind them is replaced once more, as solid and smooth as if it had never been sliced apart. As he watches, the water below them begins to rise and lifts them upwards. Noatak cranes his neck and observes the waterbenders moving as a unit: smooth bends in the knees, deliberate lifts of their hands, careful breaths taken at once. Noatak seeks to memorize each movement, every action.

The ship reaches the top of the waterway at last, and they are presented with one long canal to drift across. As usual, waterbenders are at their side, dragging the ship with steady push-pull movements down the water. They move surprisingly fast, and the ship is pulled into a dock and placed in a spot neatly and efficiently. When they step off the ship, Onartak is handed a wooden tag.

"Your number," supplies the waterbender that gives it to him, and Onartak nods. He's done this many times before. He pockets the tag before beckoning Noatak to follow.

It is late in the evening, and the sky reflects this. Noatak cranes his neck to stare at the stars, and while he is sure they cannot be that much different from those he is familiar with, he suddenly feels worlds away from his hometown. But regardless, these stars are as equally quiet and cold as the ones he is used to. He looks down and instead takes in the city around him.

As expected, everything is made of ice, and water has been integrated everywhere. Noatak and Onartak walk across bridges gracefully arching over canals of dark blue, complicated and beautiful carvings painstakingly etched into the faces of each curve of ice. Near the docks, there is still activity, and as they move closer to the main city, Noatak nearly forgets it is the middle of the night. Lights are on and twinkling in strings above him, merchants are shouting so much their voices are hoarse, and waterbending tricks and games are happening on every corner. Noatak jumps out of the way as a small group of waterbending boys race by, playfully splashing water and laughing to themselves. He feels his heart leap as he sees a boy with a similar hairstyle to Tarrlok's—but he looks older than Tarrlok. Would Noatak and Tarrlok be that way—carefree, full of life—if they had a normal life?

Onartak is similar to Naruq in that he parts a crowd as easily as a waterbender might part the water. Noatak trails after Onartak as he splits the sea of people, glancing where he can at the different activities going on. People in front of restaurants laughing at some joke, animals trailing behind their owners hoping to pick up scraps, vendors selling ice cream and dried seal meat, and children. So many children, allowed to run around to their heart's content, unbridled.

 _Lucky_ , Noatak thinks to himself, and not without some bitterness. There is little time to linger on his sour feelings, however; Onartak leads them to a small inn—"Best I can afford," he says in good humor—and announces his presence as soon as he opens the door. He is welcomed with a thunderous roar.

"Onartak, you bastard!"

"Back again?"

"Long time no see."

"You look terrible."

"So, nothing's changed is what you're saying."

Onartak takes all of these responses and more with grace, and he laughs along with them as they make fun of him at his expense. Even Noatak feels himself smiling. It's odd. He has never smiled this much in his life, but in the past few days, his cheeks almost ache from doing it so much. How depressing.

"This is Noatak," Onartak introduces the boy when someone asks. He slaps a pounding hand on Noatak's shoulder, making his knees tremble—as usual. Is he really that weak?

"He's a waterbender from one of the outer towns," Onartak says smoothly, even though Noatak is sure he has never mentioned where he has come from before. "Parents sent him over because he begged to be taught by a _master_."

That gets a few laughs.

"Couldn't be satisfied with the small town goons, eh, Noatak?" someone calls from the back, and there's another wave of chuckles. Noatak laughs along with them and says, "Of course not—I'm only good enough for the best."

His faux bravado earns him a roar of approval, and people are already coming to him, recommending him this master or that, and why he should ignore what _that_ half-wit idiot is saying, because _he_ doesn't know what he's talking about…

"Alright, alright," Onartak silences everyone at last. "Kid's tired, I'm tired, we're all tired. Let us get a couple of rooms and we'll get some recommendations from you tomorrow, yeah?"

That sounds fair to everyone else; they allow Onartak and Noatak past them and upstairs into a couple of open rooms. Noatak enters one while Onartak enters the other.

"Thank you for your help," Noatak says before Onartak closes his door.

"Nah, kid. It was my pleasure," Onartak says with a brief smile. "Good night."

"Good night," Noatak returns the pleasantry politely before disappearing into his own room. He falls asleep almost immediately, despite the noise of the people from below, with the bright moon watching over him.


End file.
